


To Walk by Owlight

by rhiannon15900



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Historical A/U, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannon15900/pseuds/rhiannon15900
Summary: While enjoying a stroll through Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens Bodie has his pocket picked.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is by the author Rhiannon, of Larton fame, who isn't on line; it's posted with her enthusiastic consent.
> 
> I'll pass on any comments/kudos to her.
> 
> If you spot any typos please let me know so I can correct them.  
> Hgdoghouse

To Walk By Owl-Light  
by Rhiannon 

 

Vauxhall Gardens, early one evening, July 1812 

 

Major William Bodie, late of the Royal Horse Artillery, looked about him in distaste. So this was the famous Vauxhall Gardens where, according to their brochure, 'fashionable nymphs can be seen taking the air, a veritable fairy-land by night, a place where wishes come true and you can win your heart's desire'. 

The whole place, with its peeling paint and tawdry booths, struck him as being well past its prime. The line that 'the cream of society can be seen along the walks' was also, he decided, inaccurate; all he'd seen so far were the usual harlots looking for rich and bird-brained young men to separate from their money, with the attendant crowds of card sharps, pickpockets and rich ne'erdo wells, among whom he now placed his present companions. He wondered how he had ever considered them amusing. 

One of them was shaking his arm. "Come on, Bodie. There's a booth over there, where two girls do this - " 

"I'm leaving," said Bodie. He shook off his companion. 

"Look, it's early yet. Give them time to - " 

"Oh, let him go," said someone else with a drunken snigger. "We'll have more fun without the surly dog. Black Dog B - " He stopped as Bodie turned to face him. 

"Bodie! Let it go, he's drunk," Lord Harry Devereux hurriedly intervened. 

"He's very lucky, he is," said Bodie. "Good night." He strode off. 

They watched him go. "You're a fool, Tom, he's called men out for less than that." 

"It doesn't do to cross that devil. Come on, let's have some wine." 

 

Bodie walked on, his temper cooling a little. He might as well take a look at the famous dark walk before he left. Now, what did the brochure claim about that? Ah, yes, he could find romantic adventure - he wouldn't mind that, especially with a good profit at the end. He should have been in Spain now if that damn fool Occy hadn't - 

This must be it. Now, according to one of Celia's awful books, he could be accosted by a 'lady in distress' fleeing from a drunken husband, a vile seducer, a libertine, a brother or a villainous guardian. Well, if he met any ladies here, he'd do well to keep a firm hand on his pocket book. He started down the walk. 

Just off the heavily shadowed walk behind a large tree, a pickpocket was sorting his day's haul; after a slow beginning, business had picked up, it had been worth the trip from Seven Dials after all. He rubbed a snuff box on his cuff. It was a nice piece, he should get enough from that for a seat at the theatre, where he could mix business with pleasure amongst the crowds. Jake should have been here to take the stuff from him. He'd have to find a new partner - drink was slowing Jake down, he nearly got caught last week. 

He got to his feet, whistling a popular tune. Better call it a day, have a meal and get back home. Then he noticed the man who had just entered the walk. He had a good coat, and that crowd approaching were noisy, straggling about, just right for a distraction. One for the road, a well-filled pocket book would really make his day. His face assumed an expression of wistful innocence as he made his way to the walk. 

As Isaac said proudly, "Jemmy Doyle can look at you like a lost angel as he takes everything from your pocket book to your shoe buckles." 

The crowd surged on happily: "Old Nosey's done it again," they yelled. "Great victory at Salamanca." 

Bodie, reaching them, had a wine bottle thrust into his hand. He drank the health of the army, regretting he hadn't been there. Then he was pushed, a young man steadied him. 

"Good news, isn't it," he said with a charming smile, before he moved on. 

Bodie smiled after him; there was something familiar about him surely? He came to the end of the walk and felt for his watch: it had gone. So had his pocket book. 

"Ah," said Major Bodie, "my young green-eyed friend, I suspect," and turning back went in search of his property, also to administer a sharp lesson. As he went, he re-encountered his former companions. They too seemed to have fallen among thieves. He finally located his quarry in a secluded eating house, seated in front of a succulent pie. He approached him. 

"So there you are," said Bodie. "I almost missed you in the crowd. Ordered for me? No? That looks good, I'll have some too. Bottle of porter will go well with it." 

He ordered a meal and picked a bottle up from the counter, then seated himself opposite Doyle, giving him a broad smile. Doyle, reminded unpleasantly of the reputed one on the face of the tiger on seeing lunch, became uneasy. He looked back warily. 

"You have the advantage of me, sir," he began. 

"Indeed I do," said Bodie, "but we will eat first. Kindly pass me my watch and pocket book or I will make substantial alterations to your appearance." 

Doyle opened his mouth to protest his innocence then thought the better of it. He passed the pocket book over. 

Bodie opened it. "A lot lighter," he said sadly. "My watch too!" 

"Watch? I don't remember a watch." 

"You have five seconds to find it, or I call that Runner over and put you in charge." 

Doyle's face assumed an expression of forlorn misery. "My poor sick mother," he began, "dying for want of a crust. I had to sell - " 

"Forget it," said Bodie with a sigh. "I'll extract payment later. Enjoy your meal, it could be your last." Applying himself to his meal with enthusiasm, he noticed with amusement that his companion seemed to have lost his appetite. 

Doyle was indeed very worried. How he wished he'd passed up this mark: his pocket book hadn't been that full and he hadn't raised much on the watch. He looked at Bodie; the good coat was worn, he could see that now. An ex-soldier down on his luck? He seemed older than Doyle had first assumed, with his cropped hair and hard blue eyes. Doyle swallowed, and began to eat slowly, waiting for a chance to escape. Then Bodie's former companions burst into the room and approached them. 

"You missed the fun, Bodie. We caught the man who lifted Harry's pin and slit his nose for him. He squealed like a pig. That'll teach him to rob his betters. Isn't this another one of the buggers?" A heavy hand landed on Doyle's shoulder. 

Bodie saw he'd gone pale under the grime on his face. "Hold on," he yelled. "That's my groom, Mat, up from Chaldon to visit a sick relative. He lost his way, daft country lad." He landed Doyle a friendly thump that rocked him in his seat. "He's no pickpocket, too damned stupid." 

"In the habit of eating with your groom, Bodie?" drawled Lord Henry. "Damned funny lot, you artillery men." 

Bodie smiled gently as another remarked, "What do you expect from a bloody Pat!" Then, still smiling, he got up and belted the speaker halfway across the room. On his flight he upturned several tables, whose disgruntled occupants joined in the resulting mill with enthusiasm. When the fracas was at its height, Doyle dived under the table and began to make his way to the door and safety. He'd almost made it when a pair of well-polished boots blocked his way. He looked up. Bodie was looking down grimly at him. 

"Going somewhere?" he inquired, hauling Doyle to his feet. "Not yet, my lad, you still owe me for my watch." 

Doyle looked about him, the 'gentry' seemed to have left. Bodie took another helping of pie. 

"Sit down," he ordered. "We may as well get on with our meal." 

"You're Irish then?" said Doyle with an ingratiating grin. "Very warm-hearted people, I've heard, not likely to be too hard on a poor lad trying to..." His voice had assumed a professional whine. 

Bodie winced. "What's your name?" he questioned. "Your real one, mind!" He was studying Doyle closely. 

"Doyle. Jem Doyle, and this is the first time I've ever - " 

"Never mind that," said Bodie. "I need a lad for a wager: you could be right for it. Have to get you cleaned up, see what I can make of you. If you'll do, you get four meals a day and ten guineas if I win my wager, or I'll call the Runners and have you put in charge. Should be in fine time for the hangings next month." 

Doyle gulped, he didn't have much alternative: Jake would have talked by now in the hope of saving his neck. He needed to get as far from his usual haunts as possible. Mr. Bodie looked quite capable of putting him in charge too. Yes, go along with him, then cut and run when a good chance came. 

"All right," he said. 

Bodie nodded, paid the bill and motioned to him to follow. "Thought you were a sensible lad," he remarked. "I'm staying at 'The Golden Eagle'." He took a firm grip of Doyle's arm. "Let's get along there." 

 

"Here we are." He pushed Doyle ahead of him into the inn. 

"Evening, Major. Will you be needing any supper?" 

"No, just send up two tubs of very hot water to my room, some towels, a bottle of Hollands... and soap." 

They went up to his room. "Not bad, this," said Doyle, looking about. He settled by the large fire in the grate, scratching happily. "Like a good fire." 

Bodie watching him, shuddered. "Stop that! Get those clothes off. When the hot water arrives, I want you scrubbed all over." 

"Why?" complained Doyle. "I'm clean, fell in the Fleet when a Runner chased me last month. Too much washing's bad for you, takes your skin off. Don't hold with it." 

"You stink, that's why," said Bodie. "And I have to share a room with you. Strip!" 

The water arrived. Doyle, realising that Bodie was quite ready to do it for him, stripped, and began to wash gingerly, becoming much paler as he did so. 

"Good," said Bodie. "And your hair as well, lousy little brat." 

This brought an immediate protest. "It's got good bear grease on, it'll last another month." The rest was lost in a gurgling protest as Bodie ducked him forcibly, then, grabbing the soap, began to wash him firmly. 

"Worse than bathing a damned mule," he remarked. After a brisk rub down, he allowed Doyle to settle by the fire wrapped in a sheet and complaining bitterly, while he sorted through his clothes. He picked up the green coat; it was verminous. 

"They can burn that," he remarked, ignoring the howl of protest from its owner. He extracted from the pockets (there seemed to be extra of those) several good silk handkerchiefs, and a silver snuff box. 

"Yours, I presume?" he questioned. 

"My poor father's," said Doyle. "He fell at the Battle of Talavera." He sniffed pathetically. 

"Indeed," said Bodie, studying the crest. "I shall return this to Captain Spencer when I next see him. He survived Talavera. By the way, I doubt he's your father." 

Doyle, temporarily defeated, retreated to his place by the fire. Bodie noticed he was taking his run-down shoes with him and made a grab for them: sure enough there was a quantity of bank notes stuffed in the toes. 

"Surprised you could walk with this lot," he remarked. "I'll keep this for the watch; some of it's bound to be mine." He ignored the muttered threats. On looking over the rest of the clothes, he realised that unless he wanted Doyle to travel with him stark naked he'd have to compromise, so he passed over the worn green breeches and patched, off-white shirt, silk stockings with runs, and run-over shoes; they had silver buckles which didn't match. He then took up his bottle of Hollands and settled himself to an evening's serious drinking with the  
air of a man who's done a good day's work. 

There was a moan of protest from Doyle. "I'm cold." 

"Go to bed then," said Bodie. "Pallet at the side, mind." He tossed over his spare cloak. "Wrap yourself in that." 

Doyle, still muttering, settled down and was soon asleep. Bodie, retiring, looked down at him. Sleeping, the resemblance was even more marked. 

He needs feeding up, he thought. Someone's given him a hell of a beating. He yawned and fell asleep. 

 

Next morning found them well on the way to Chaldon, Bodie's manor in Surrey. Doyle was now wrapped in the spare cloak which went round his skinny frame twice; he wasn't enjoying the trip. The coach was hot, stuffy and swayed in a manner he found most upsetting; he was also wedged between a stout man who wheezed, and a skinny youth with wickedly sharp elbows. He complained to Bodie, who informed him if he didn't shut up he could ride in the basket at the back. 

They finally halted at Caterham, which was as well, Doyle's face was rapidly assuming the same hue as his breeches. 

"The fresh air will do you good," said Bodie heartily. "That, and a brisk walk." 

Doyle looked round. The pastoral scene held no charms for him: he was cold, nauseated and it looked like rain. 

"Come on!" yelled Bodie. "Stop dawdling." He strode ahead. 

Doyle, muttering darkly, stumbled after him; his run-over shoes were unsuited to rough country lanes. They seemed to have been walking for miles, most of it uphill. They finally reached the top of a steep incline. 

Bodie pointed. "Chaldon Court," he announced proudly. 

"Gawd!" said Doyle. "It's fuckin' miles away." 

"Only five," said Bodie. "Give you an appetite. You'd be no good in the army, need to be able to march, there." Fortunately he didn't catch Doyle's muttered remark. 

By the time they drew near the house the rain had been falling for some time. From the distance the house had looked quite impressive; a closer view disclosed the need for urgent repairs. Bodie's paternal grandfather had intended to pull it down and build a vast Palladian villa; mercifully, a run of bad luck at the tables had defeated this ambition, the smaller rooms of the Jacobean mansion being easier to heat. As they walked up the avenue to the house Bodie looked at his companion. Doyle presented a pathetic sight: the rain dripped off  
his hair and down his face; a steady sloshing sound marked his movement, he'd given up emptying his shoes. 

"You'll soon get dry now," Bodie said encouragingly. 

He received a malevolent glare in reply. 

Bodie, striding up to the main door, hammered loudly. It was opened after a delay by a short, squat man smelling strongly of the stables. He grinned, showing a distressing lack of teeth (due to an encounter with a bad-tempered horse). At that moment an eldritch wail came from inside. 

"What," said Bodie, "is that?" 

"Polly," said Mat. "Fox got six chickens last night; she's taking on a bit." 

There was another banshee-like howl from the unseen Polly. Bodie swore loudly. "Come on," he said over his shoulder to Doyle who squelched in after him pulling the cloak around him. Even damp it was some protection, he wasn't sure it wasn't warmer outside. They entered a large room with a roaring fire. Doyle made straight for it and stood there, steaming happily. 

"Warm yourself, do," said a voice. Doyle looked round. A young lady lying on a couch was smiling at him. "You look frozen," she added. 

Bodie joined him at the fire. "My sister, Miss Celia Bodie," he said. "Celia, this is Jem Doyle, he will be staying with us for a while." 

"Your servant, Ma'am," said Doyle. 

"You're both dreadfully wet," said Celia. "Well, I hope you can stomach fricassee of rabbit and an elderly chicken; our intended supper has been eaten by another. He spurned the bird we will be consuming tonight. Matthew had hoped to find us a substitute, but Sir Austin's keepers are much on the alert at the moment. He has been losing a lot of game to poachers, he says." 

"Surprising," said Bodie, "just gets worse here." He walked to the doorway, stuck his head out and bellowed down the hall: "Jemima, two more for dinner!" 

There was a rumbling of complaint and then a stout, elderly body erupted into the room and began to crash plates onto the table. Doyle, still glued to the fire, stared at her. 

"Jemima," said Bodie, "this is Jem Doyle. He will need feeding too." 

There was a mumble in a strong country accent, then Jemima looked at Doyle. Taking in his bedraggled appearance, her face softened. 

They moved to the table. Bodie lifted his sister from the couch, seating her at the head of the table. Jemima began to dish up the meal, Bodie noticing with amusement she was giving Doyle a very good helping of everything. 

Fooled by his sad little face, he decided. 

"Well then," said Celia, "how goes the world outside, brother?" 

As they talked, Doyle studied her. Miss Celia Bodie was a pale, thin girl with dark shadows under her eyes but she showed a cheerful spirit, and Doyle decided he much preferred her to her alarming brother. He cast a professional eye around the room: the hangings were worn and old, the plate worn too and not of good quality. Salt and pepper pots were good - they'd fetch a fair price, some of the cutlery too. Old family down on their luck? He turned his attention back to his meal. 

"Some more rabbit, Mr. Doyle?" asked Celia. He passed his plate with alacrity. 

"I'm getting very bored with rabbit," said Celia, peering into her plate gloomily. 

"Should have been with the army in Spain," said Bodie. "Would have been glad of rabbit there. I remember we had to eat the mules one Christmas." 

"William!" said Celia. "One more word about Spain and I'll have Jemima empty the fish kettle over your head. Besides, you enjoyed every minute of it. Now, did you bring me any new books?" 

Bodie got up and fetched his travelling bag. 

"Now let's see. Two books from Aunt Ag: 'Practical Piety' by Hannah More and her 'Coelebs In Search Of A Wife: A Moral Tale' with her best wishes." 

"How kind," said Celia. "They will help keep the kitchen range going. What else?" 

"From me, 'A Sentimental Journey' by Lawrence Sterne, a tale full of bawdy, unfit for a gently nurtured girl. It's good, read it myself, and 'The Mysteries Of Udolpho' by Mrs. Radcliffe, full, I am assured, of murders, ghosts, secret passages and mad relatives chained up in attics." 

"My, my," said Celia, "she must have visited the Wainwrights. You're a pet, hand them over." 

They finished the meal with an excellent apple pie and cream. Doyle, clearing his plate, was beginning to think this might not be too bad after all. 

"Where is Jem going to sleep?" asked Celia. 

"He can have Occy's old room," said Bodie carelessly. "There's a bed in there, isn't there?" 

"Well, yes, but it hasn't been used since they laid him out on it; could be very damp," said Celia, with concern. 

"Oh, he won't mind," said Bodie. "He's used to roughing it." He avoided Doyle's eye. 

Celia looked doubtful. "I'll have Jemima light a fire in there tomorrow." 

Bodie led the way upstairs. It grew progressively colder. Doyle, still clinging to the cloak, shivered. 

"Here we are," said Bodie, ushering him into a small, gloomy room, smelling strongly of damp. "Now don't set the curtains on fire like Occy." He left. 

Doyle, after a horrified look round, waited till all sound had ceased from the rest of the house. He tried the door: locked. It took him three minutes to open it. He then slipped down to the drawing room, curled up on the rug by the still warm fire and was soon asleep. 

oOo

Bodie poured himself another brandy. His plan to turn Jemmy Doyle into a passable scion of society was taking much longer than he had expected. Doyle seemed to take an extraordinarily long time to grasp the simplest thing, but Bodie had begun to notice that as his own meagre store of patience became exhausted, Doyle's powers of comprehension seemed to improve, or, to put it another way, as soon as Doyle noticed the red mist gathering in his tutor's eye, he became much brighter. 

This was doing nothing for Bodie's never very tranquil disposition, hence his frequent recourse to the brandy bottle. He had now been waiting for Doyle for well over an hour. Bawling for him had no effect and he was damned if he'd go looking for him. Bodie breathed hard and prayed he wouldn't murder the little runt before he'd trained him. He'd almost begun to regret his impulse to embark on the venture, but the likeness... He remembered his painful interview with Mr. Coke the morning of the day he had gone to the Gardens. 

"Just get it through your head, William," Mr. Coke had said, "there is no more money available from the estate. If you had hung onto a quarter of the amount you have thrown away across the gaming tables since your return from Spain there might have been a chance of redeeming the mortgage but now... I will inquire from Sir Joseph if he will grant you an extension, but I think it most unlikely he will. I suggest you put your befuddled wits to considering the plight of your sister should she be made homeless." There had been much more but he had stormed out, meeting up with his friends and then Doyle. 

He blamed Jemima for Doyle's lack of co-operation: too much red meat, that's what it was. From the moment she had clapped eyes on the pale, fragile figure with the big green eyes, she had taken him under her wing to feed and nurture. Doyle had taken to 'gracious' living (or the degree of it practiced at Chaldon) with enthusiasm. The four meals a day in their agreement had rapidly stretched to five, and whatever else he could charm out of Jemima with his pathetic little face, while he packed away daily enough good food for two men. His bones were now much less in evidence. 

Getting nicely rounded, thought Bodie. Not bad looking either, now he's scrubbed. He looked with surprise at his glass. Haven't had that much to drink, he mused. Where the hell is he? He glanced into the drawing room. Celia was resting on her couch, the cold weather was causing her discomfort. He went over to her. 

"How's the back, love?" 

"Bloody," said Celia. "Damned weather. There's some brandy and water warming by the fire for me. Reach it, would you?" He helped her to a more comfortable position and sat by her as she sipped the drink. 

"William, have you any books I can use to teach Jem to read? We are working through Mrs. Trimmer's 'Life of Robin' and he hates it. Surely you must have something besides your military manuals." 

Bodie stared at her. "What are you teaching him to read for? He doesn't need to, just give him ideas above his station. Don't hold with education for the lower orders." 

"Oh, stop quoting Papa, you don't mean it. Why shouldn't he learn to read? He's bright, and he wants to learn. He's a lot keener than you and Occy ever were." 

Bodie looked at her in surprise. "You mean he's actually working at it?" 

"Yes, I've been teaching him a few weeks now. He knows his alphabet and simple sentences but we need something more for him to practise on and all I have are terrible things like Mrs. Trimmer's bloody robin book and awful improving tales, which make him laugh but are totally unreadable." 

"Celia, I think I'd better tell you why I am training Doyle. The real reason." 

"About time," said Celia. "Didn't believe the story of the wager; you've been working too hard for that." 

Bodie went to the sideboard and took a small painting from the drawer. "Now, Celia, who is this?" he asked. 

"Hum," said Celia. "I wondered why that had gone off the wall. That's little Cousin Raymond, who died with Aunt Elizabeth in the Terror. Pity she couldn't get the gingery little horror to smile." 

"No," said Bodie. "This is Jemmy Doyle, presently being fed and clothed under our roof." 

"William! How much have you drunk today? No, let me have a look. You know, there is a distinct likeness: the scowl, I think, when you tell him to do anything. Very familiar." 

Bodie nodded. "And if little Cousin Raymond does not turn up by the end of the year, what will happen to us?" 

"You know quite well," said Celia. "We lose our home, unless you can find a compliant heiress to pay all your debts and the mortgage, and there isn't one stupid enough available. I shall have to go into a convent, which would be preferable to living with Joseph and Amelia." 

"But," said Bodie, "if little Cousin Raymond were to appear - a simple, generous kind-hearted lad - he would present us with Chaldon, with tears of gratitude for saving him from the stews, waving aside the money we owe the estate. I could get back to Spain, you can go to Bath. Mr. Coke will find us someone to run the estate." 

"William," said Celia, "I know you think Lord Arthur can't manage in Spain without you but it all sounds very chancy. Jemmy is sweet but could he do it?" 

Bodie would never have considered Jem sweet but perhaps women saw him differently. He wasn't about to argue the matter. 

"I'm sure he can. Celia, what have we got to lose?" 

"Well, it's fraud and you can go to prison, but I'm game. What do you need to teach him, can I help?" 

"How to behave, for a start," growled Bodie. "Then I'm going to have to drum some French into him. Aunt Elizabeth lived abroad so long, he's bound to know some. But he's so damned slow learning anything. Funny, struck me as too damned bright when I first met him." 

"Oh heavens," said Celia. "He's having you on. He doesn't want to go back to the Dials while he's being fed and clothed here, with a good roof over his head. Of course he's spinning it out as long as he can. He's a bright lad really." 

"You're right," said Bodie. "The bloody little - " He glanced at the clock. "Where the hell is he? I'm going to find him and - " He stormed out. 

"William," yelled Celia, "be patient. Oh damn." 

 

Bodie finally ran Doyle to earth in the far tack room. He was seated cross-legged on the floor, chatting to Mat and stitching a bridle. 

"Doyle," Bodie began calmly, "I've been waiting over an hour for you." 

"I'm busy," said Doyle and continued stitching, muttering a remark which Bodie unfortunately heard. A red mist began to gather in his eyes and his nostrils twitched. 

"When did you last wash, Doyle?" he asked. 

Doyle shrugged. Without a word Bodie hauled him to his feet and out into the stable yard. Dragging him to the pump, he heaved him over the trough and began to pump icy water over as much of him as he could. 

Doyle, after the first shock, kicked, struggled and yelled. Bodie continued till he was thoroughly soaked, then let him go. Doyle scrambled to his feet, water sluicing off him, and, cursing, lunged at Bodie. Mat grabbed him and hung on. 

"I am not," said Bodie, "putting up any longer with a dirty, lazy young pup. You will dry yourself, change your shirt and join me in the drawing room ready to get to work." So saying he strode off, Doyle's curse following him. 

Mat, now rubbing him down with a far from clean horse blanket, shook him. "Stop that. You should have told me the master was waiting for you. He didn't do you any real harm, just a bit rough with you, that's all." 

Doyle disagreed violently and expressed his opinion of Bodie at length. 

Mat finished drying him. "You're wrong, Jem. There's a lot of good in Master William. Jemima and me, we won't work for that bastard Joseph! If he takes over we'll go with Miss Celia, wherever. They've always seen we have our wages however bad things are with them. Not many people in their position are like that, you know. Now go on with you." He gave Doyle a friendly shove. 

Doyle, unconvinced, stamped off to the house to change his shirt and pick up anything that might be useful to take with him. 

Bodie, his temper cooling, had returned to the drawing room. 

"You're a little damp, brother," said Celia, looking at him. 

"Gave the little runt a much needed wash. You'd have thought I was killing him, the fuss he made." 

"He won't be very generous or kind-hearted at this rate," said Celia. "What's that?" The sound of a galloping horse drifted to them. Bodie looked out of the window just as Doyle, going like a bat out of hell, passed down the avenue. 

Bodie ran to the stable yard. "What's Doyle doing up on Jasper?" 

"Dunno," said Mat. "Travelling, wasn't he? I've saddled Meg for you, if you've a mind to catch him." 

"Catch him?" said Bodie. "I'll bloody strangle him." He galloped off. 

Mat watched with interest, then went to report to Jemima. Getting just like the old days, it was. 

 

By the time Bodie reached the end of the avenue, Doyle was no longer in sight. He made for the main highway, remembering Doyle didn't know the region and would be unlikely to go across country. He'd ridden for an hour and almost given up when he saw a horse at a wayside smithy: it was Jasper. A man wandered out chewing a straw, it was Doyle. He caught sight of Bodie and bolted like a rabbit into the hedge. 

With a grin, Bodie put his horse to the field gate and cleared it. Doyle, who had been expecting thick undergrowth, found himself in an open field and that man thundering down on him. He made for the nearest clump of trees. Bodie, enjoying himself, galloped after him. 

Catching up with the running man, he reached down to grab his collar. At that moment his horse stumbled. Bodie, off-balance, fell, fortunately landing heavily on Doyle, which softened his landing considerably. He arose and frisked his thoroughly winded victim, removing diverse articles from his person. 

"Ah, Papa's second best snuff box, and the silver fish knives. Could get hanged for this, you know. Now what am I going to do with you?" He grinned at Doyle. 

"That was a damned fool thing to do!" yelled Doyle. "You could have killed me." 

With that he swung at Bodie and hit him very hard below the belt. Bodie gasped, then swung at him and missed. Doyle hit him again. Bodie, who hadn't had what he considered a good fight in ages, settled to enjoy himself. 

Mustn't hurt the little runt. Who would have thought it? Then a combination of a lucky punch and tripping over a tree root sent him half senseless to the ground. He was vaguely aware of someone slapping his face hard and saying, "Bodie?" anxiously. He groaned and looked up. Doyle shot to a safe distance. 

"Come here!" ordered Bodie. Doyle shook his head firmly. 

"Come on, I won't hit you. Let's go back to the house, I have something to tell you. Could be to your advantage, there's more money in it." 

Doyle considered. While Bodie did have a heavy hand, he still seemed gentle to some Doyle had known. He'd been very comfortable at Chaldon, and he believed Bodie. 

"More money?" questioned Doyle. "You'll forget about the fish knives?" 

"Yes," said Bodie, getting up with a groan. "Now go and catch my horse for me." 

Bodie glanced at his companion as they rode back. Could be making a mistake but I haven't   
anything to lose, and he didn't run when he could have. Game little runt. 

Celia seemed unsurprised at their condition. "You both look as though you've been rolling in the mud," she remarked. 

"Jem took some persuading to return," said Bodie. "I think it's time I told him who he is." 

"Good," said Celia. "Pour us all a brandy, then we can sit by the fire and plot in comfort." 

They settled by the fire. Bodie again brought over the small painting. 

"Here, Doyle, take a look at this," he said. 

"Who's the brat?" said Doyle, without interest. 

"You," said Bodie. 

Doyle was outraged. "I don't look like that." 

"Celia, your small mirror, please. Here, look at yourself, Doyle. Try the expression you use when I tell you to do something." 

Doyle scowled into the glass. "Oh." He studied himself with interest. "Marked me good, didn't they." He fingered his scarred cheek. 

"Meant to ask about that," said Bodie. "What happened?" 

"Oh, some soldiers." Doyle glanced at Celia. "They fancied - " He looked at Bodie, who nodded. "Well, I said no, and they put the boot in. Carved one up...." 

"We'd better work out something less sordid than that," said Bodie. "Mildly heroic if possible." He ignored Doyle's glare. "Now for your family history. You are the bas... love child of my Aunt Elizabeth, who ran away with a swine of an Irish adventurer called Captain James McDonnell. He thought she had money. They lived in France as there were, we found, pressing reasons why Captain McDonnell could not return to these shores. Aunt wrote to her father asking for his forgiveness and sending him this painting of their only child, hoping the sweet face would soften his stony heart. Naturally, after looking at the child, he did not reply. Captain McDonnell was killed in a duel some years later, and we lost track of Lady Elizabeth. We heard she and Raymond had died in the Terror. Her father, by then, had softened towards her and left his estate (with some small exceptions) to her son, who he still believed was alive, with the proviso that if he did not appear within two years of my grandfather's death, the estate would then go to the next heir, my cousin Joseph, who is managing it at the moment." 

"Why didn't he leave it to you?" asked Doyle. "Thought Chaldon was yours." 

"It should have been, but my brute of a father raised a big loan on it with the Talbot estate. They hold the mortgage. Grandfather was going to cancel it and leave it to me free and clear, but the old fool was killed out hunting before he could alter his will. And we can't repay the mortgage..." 

"You want me to be the missing heir then?" said Doyle. "What's to stop me grabbing the lot?" 

"Yes," said Bodie, "and, in short, me. We'll make up a nice little agreement for you to sign, saying you will give me Chaldon. You can then go and live on your Irish properties - safer than staying round here - and make a settlement on dear Joseph in consideration of his good work on the estate, God rot him. Have to do that, he's a greedy bastard who could make trouble otherwise. I'll pay you the rents on two of my properties for five years. The Irish estates aren't up to much but you could run some horses on them." Doyle's eyes lit up, Bodie had struck the right note. "Then," Bodie went on, "we shall all live happily ever  
after. I can leave this rural backwater and rejoin the army; Celia can go and live in Bath and open a salon if she wants to." 

"An Irish estate," murmured Doyle. "Horses. Always knew I was well born, of course. Stolen by gypsies from my cradle." 

"They must have been mad," said Bodie. "Before you get over-excited, we are very minor country gentry. But we did have an ancestor who died in the Tower..." 

"Who didn't?" said Celia. "And that was for contracting an unlawful marriage." 

Doyle wasn't impressed. "Always fancied I was more like royalty," he complained. "Like the Dolphin who escaped from the Tower in a basket. I can speak some French," he added hopefully. 

"No, Doyle," said Bodie firmly. "You're the wrong age for a start. Just settle for being Aunt Elizabeth's bastard, it's more profitable." 

Doyle obviously didn't want to relinquish his favourite fantasy, and looked mutinous. 

"Never mind, Jemmy," said Celia, who had been controlling mounting hysteria. "If this doesn't work you can try to become King of France instead. I'll help you," she offered. 

"Will you two be serious," growled Bodie as they both laughed. He noticed with surprise Doyle's different manner to him and Celia as though they were now partners in crime, as he supposed they were. 

oOo

"Now this," said Celia, pointing to a painting, "is Papa." 

Doyle, who was pushing her chair down the long gallery, looked at the painting critically. It showed a short, choleric-looking man. The face appeared distorted till you realised a heavy object had impacted with it at some time. 

"He looks bad tempered," said Doyle. 

"Shortest temper in the county," Celia agreed. "Seldom went to bed sober, had a string of trollops - he had a terrible taste in women, liked them fat and stupid. You're not seeing him at his best here. William, in his cups, threw a bottle at the painting when we found the old fool had mortgaged our estate to finance his new system at the tables: it didn't work. Now this is Octavius; he was our elder brother." 

Doyle studied the weak, handsome face. "Looks a lot like Bodie," he remarked. 

"For God's sake don't say that to him; he couldn't stand poor Occy. He had no sense at all, took after Papa and drank like a fish. Though he was kind hearted, have to give him that. Ran round with - an actress, she called herself - named Lizzie Mallet. Occy wanted to marry her after she had his child. Pa put a stop to it. Might have been the making of him. After that he fell into a bottle; took a bet he could clear the yard gate when he was very drunk indeed. The horse did, but he pitched off and broke his neck. That's about it, except for this one of Occy, William and me; Mama had that painted." 

Doyle looked at it. Occy, obviously his mother's darling; William, scowling from under a thick dark fringe, and standing in front of him a pert little girl. 

"You could walk then," said Doyle, surprised. 

"Oh yes, I could run faster than William. When I was fifteen I had a carriage accident and injured my back. Papa was furious, he'd been hoping to trade me off to a lecherous old crony of his, so I was fortunate in that way. Oh, never mind that, let's go and have some tea. Thank you for wheeling me Jemmy, I've enjoyed seeing the ancestors again. How are you getting on, learning the family history?" 

"All right," Doyle shrugged. "Not very interesting, is it?" 

"'Fraid not," said Celia "They hardly stuck their heads outside the shire, except for William and his war in Spain, and Papa at Bath." 

"Bodie," said Doyle, and muttered balefully. 

"Yes, I know," said Celia. "He can be a bit impatient, always wants things done now if not sooner, it must be a bore for his ladies. You don't like him, do you?" 

"No," said Doyle. "Talks to me as though I'm dirt or half-witted." 

"He was very difficult as a child," said Celia. "Papa used to beat hell out of him. He would go his own way. He's not such a hard case as he pretends, he helped Lizzie and her child, pretty little thing. She called her Perditha, of all things. Lizzie married a captain in the militia. She lives in Devon. She writes now and again; keeps a very soft spot for William." 

Doyle wheeled her back to the drawing room. He was getting very doubtful over their scheme; such an undertaking required very careful planning, and Bodie was a rank amateur. 

Should have stuck to his soldiering, thought Doyle. Bloody military mind. Doyle did not care for soldiers. I should get out now, before he makes a mess of it and we all swing but... I like living here, having four meals a day, books to read, horses - 

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he leapt to one side. "Stop doing that," he yelled. "Thought you were a bloody Runner." 

"Can't help your guilty conscience," said Bodie. "Come on, work to do." 

Doyle began to make plans. 

oOo 

"William," said Celia, "you haven't seen my silver thimble, I suppose?" 

"You suppose correctly," said Bodie, without taking his eyes from his book. "Dropped down the sofa again has it?" 

"No, I don't think so. I left it ready to do some sewing; the little scissors have gone too... Perhaps Jemima cleared them away." 

"Huh." Bodie got up and went to the sideboard. "Funny, could have sworn I left my flask here." 

"You did. When you filled it last night you complained we were running short on brandy." 

Bodie stood thinking a moment, then left the room. A quick search of Doyle's room yielded a small store of treasures: his flask (it had been emptied), the scissors, thimble, shoe buckles, Papa's snuff box, small creme jug, and a heavy silver watch. Funny, that wasn't familiar. Bodie opened it and went cold. He remembered Sir Austin's visit, complaining about poachers again; he'd been rather brusque with Doyle. 

"The little bastard," said Bodie, and hurried downstairs. "Celia, where's Doyle?" 

"In the kitchen. He's opening the spice cupboard for Jemima, the key broke in the lock." 

When he reached the kitchen he found Doyle seated at the table, a plate of pie in front of him.

Jemima looked across. "Jem can open anything," she said proudly, ruffling his curls affectionately. 

Doyle beamed at her and dug into his pie. He then looked at Bodie twirling the watch; his face was most expressive. Doyle hurriedly dodged behind Jemima. 

"Doyle," said Bodie sweetly. "Come out into the yard, will you." 

Doyle shook his head. 

"Stop playing about," said Jemima, moving away. 

Bodie saw a chance and grabbed for him. When the stars cleared he was lying on the settle with Jemima holding a cold cloth to his head. He reached up and felt a considerable lump. 

"Stop that," said Jemima, pushing his hand away. "I'd better put some witch hazel on it." 

"What hit me?" said Bodie, gritting his teeth against a splitting headache. 

"Saucepan," said Jemima. "You must have frightened the lad with all that fooling about. Miss Celia is very cross with him. She's telling him off in the drawing room." 

"I'm cross with him, too," said Bodie. "My head feels as though it's been sawn off." 

He eventually made his way to the drawing room where he found a very subdued Doyle. In front of Celia was a pile of objects. Bodie would have blinked if it hadn't been so painful; the original hoard seemed to have doubled. 

"Jem has returned to me all the things he... borrowed," said Celia, "and promised he will never do such a thing again. He is very sorry he hit you with the saucepan; he was afraid you were going to hurt him." 

"I was," said Bodie with quiet menace. 

"Er, yes, I've told him if he had killed you, I would have been furious!" She glared at Doyle who shifted uncomfortably. "I have sent a message to Sir Austin," Celia went on, "to inform him his watch has been found. He must have dropped it here. Now I should like to go to bed. William, can you manage to carry me or shall I send for Mat? He does smell so strongly of horse..." 

"I can manage," said Bodie, sighing. "Come on," he picked her up, "at least you don't weigh as much as dearest Emma, I'd hate to have to lug her around." 

"Would you, dear?" said Celia, mischievously. She whispered in his ear. 

Bodie roared, "Shut up, woman, or I'll drop you. Doyle!" he added in a different tone, "Wait there for me." 

Doyle waited till they had disappeared from view, then shot to his room and bolted the door. He'd much rather see Bodie in the morning when his headache and temper had subsided. However, when he got up next day he found the house in turmoil. Polly, the hen girl, was casually burning his breakfast on the range. Bodie, he was informed, had ridden into Heathdene for the doctor. 

"Miss Celia's real bad with her back. Jemima's having to stay with her today." She slopped Doyle's breakfast onto a plate. 

He took one mouthful, then emptied it out for the hens. Polly might be great with poultry or round the vegetable patch, as a cook she was wanting. Doyle, now used to Jemima's excellent cooking, decided he would have to take over. So Bodie arrived back with the doctor to a passable breakfast, which he ate with nothing more than the occasional yes and no to questions, then went to speak to the doctor. 

Jemima appeared. "Polly," she yelled. "Drat her, where is she?" 

"I sent her back to the hens," said Doyle. "I used to work at an Inn, I know what to do." 

"Good lad. Make up a posset for Miss Celia. Have to get some food into her." 

He spent the next two days cooking and supervising the kitchen while Jemima was kept busy upstairs. Bodie, after a moment of shocked outrage when it was suggested he ate in the kitchen, gave way, after Doyle had pointed out: "I'm not damn well running to and fro after you. If you want feeding, come and get it. Warmer in here anyway." 

"I don't know why you don't keep a couple of pigs," said Doyle as they ate their supper. "They wouldn't cost anything to feed. Eat our scraps, grub about for themselves, even eat Polly's cooking. Not fussy, pigs." 

"Not while I'm eating," Bodie commanded. "Gentlemen don't keep pigs, that's for cottagers. Whose bacon is this anyway?" 

"Mat's sister sent it over when she heard Celia was bad. I'm buying two piglets off her. She'll tell Polly how to rear them." 

"Taking a lot on yourself, aren't you?" said Bodie amiably. 

"Not if I'm your long-lost Cousin Raymond," said Doyle. "Just trying to put my estate into some sort of order. You haven't been looking after it very well, you know." 

"Doyle!" Bodie began in menacing tones. Doyle grinned at him. "Where did you learn to cook, anyway?" 

"Oh, I felt like an indoor job and so worked at 'the Spaniards' one winter, in the kitchen and as a pot boy. It made a nice change working in the warmth." He didn't add it had also been useful as a source of information on stage coach schedules and travellers for a friend of his. "How's Celia now? I saw the doctor's carriage from the garden." 

"Much better. The pain seems to be lessening at last. She enjoyed the things you sent her up to eat. You've been a big help here, she said to thank you." 

Doyle shrugged. "I'm happy she's on the mend." 

Next morning Bodie, never an early riser, found Doyle had left. Jemima was in charge in the kitchen. 

"He's been a good lad, William," she announced. "Taken himself off for a long ride, he said. Piglets have arrived. Polly's just boiling up some scraps for them. Took to them right away, she did. Come and see." 

Bodie left hurriedly, having no wish to make their acquaintance. Time he took a ride himself and visited a certain lady, he decided. 

Later that evening, whistling cheerfully, he made his unsteady way upstairs. Very pleasant day it had been, he decided, thanks to the warm attentions of Mrs. Porter and a considerable intake of alcohol. He now felt kindly disposed towards the whole world. Noticing there was still a light showing from Doyle's room, he looked in. Doyle was curled up on his bed, wrapped in a rug, squinting at a book in the candlelight. The room seemed very damp and cold; a smoky fire burned sullenly in the grate. 

"Not warmed up much has it," said Bodie. 

"No. I wanted to read some more of this. Celia says it's better than the bloody robins, but - Can you read, Bodie?" 

"Of course," said Bodie. "Had to learn to get in the army." 

"Give me a hand, then," said Doyle hopefully. 

"No, that's Celia's job." 

"Ha, you can't read," said Doyle, with delight. 

"I can, too. Oh, shift up. What's this load of rubbish called?" 

"'The Mysteries of Udolpho', by Mrs. Radcliffe," said Doyle with relish. "I didn't know women wrote books, Bodie." 

"Unnatural, that's what it is," said Bodie. "Your mother, your supposed mother, read too many novels; they filled her head with romance, love and all that rot. Aunt Augusta said so when Captain McDonnell came along with his lying Irish blarney. She fell for him and eloped." 

"I think it's romantic," said Doyle; he enjoyed a love story. 

"I think it's stupid," said Bodie, a realist. "She should have had her family arrange her a good match like my mother did." 

"Heard your mother was very unhappy," said Doyle. "Your father was a sod." 

"True," said Bodie, "but he had a good position and an estate. Marriages aren't meant to be happy. If you want that you find a bit on the side." 

"Not true," said Doyle. "Can be very happy with the right one." 

"Gawd," said Bodie. "What do you know about it? All your sort have is a quick grapple in an alley, or a dolly who cooks and whores for you. Not a bad arrangement that, pleasure and profit." 

Doyle looked at him a moment. "I've heard that arrangement isn't uncommon among our betters too, Bodie. Got a very dirty mouth you have," he added bitterly. 

Bodie raised an eyebrow. "Hit a nerve, have I? Well, you're right at that. What's the matter?" Doyle had shivered suddenly. 

"Nothing," he said. "Go to bed, Bodie." 

"I can hear your teeth rattling. Come on to my room. Have some brandy, you're freezing." 

"No," said Doyle. 

Bodie looked at him a moment, then hauled him from the bed. "Don't you ever do what you're told? I'll get that chimney swept tomorrow. Come on." 

Doyle stood watching Bodie as he warmed up some brandy and water by the excellent fire in his room. He carefully ladled the drink into two glasses and passed one to Doyle. 

"Here, get that down you. Then you can sleep on the rug in here like you do downstairs on cold nights." 

Doyle looked at him, startled, as he drank. "You knew?" 

"Nearly stood on you one night when I came down to refill my flask. You must show me how you spring that lock some time. Soon warm you up, that will." 

Bodie sprawled on the bed, opened the book he'd brought with him. He glanced at Doyle. No one can look as bloody pathetic as he can, he thought. 

"Here, come and sit by me," he ordered, "and I'll read you a good bit." Doyle settled beside him. "Ah, this will send you off to sleep happy." 

Bodie finished his drink and began. "'Slowly the passage door creaked open...'" Doyle gave a delighted wriggle - "'Lady Marion dimly perceived a shadowy figure... it came closer. It was wrapped in a shroud-like garment and brought with it the chill odour of the tombs. As it shuffled closer, it extended a bony, fleshless hand towards her. Lady Marion shrieked and fell senseless to the floor.'" 

"She's always doing that," Doyle complained. "Celia or Jemima would have hit it with a poker." 

"Ah, but they don't know how to behave," said Bodie. "Women are supposed to be timid, submissive creatures. Not that I meet any like that," he added bitterly. 

"Yes, heard about you and Julia Willougby," said Doyle. 

"Did you now? Good armful is Julia, nothing else going for her. She'd have seen the shuffling thing off damned quick too. Want to hear some more?" 

Doyle nodded briskly. He was feeling very comfortable, glowing nicely. 

"Let's see then. Oh, when she comes to, it's gone. Pity, that... Then Captain Rashleigh enters. Who the hell's he?" 

"The hero," said Doyle. "He has blue eyes, dark hair and a nasty disposition. I thought he sounded a lot like you. He has a hidden sorrow: a mad wife chained up in the attic." 

"Oh, bad luck," said Bodie. "At least I'm spared that. Bet he's got an independent income though. Oh God, I'm tired. Come on, Doyle, shift yourself. Have to get my boots off." He sat up, then grabbed his head. "Don't think I'll bother." 

"I'll do it," said Doyle. He tugged the boots off, then waited till he was sure Bodie was asleep and went through his pockets. 

Nothing that wouldn't instantly be missed, he thought sadly. Pocket book was practically empty. Wonder where his watch and fob is? He was on the floor arranging the rug, when Bodie suddenly stirred and looked down at him. 

"Thought you'd be asleep," he remarked. 

"Draughty down here," said Doyle. "Couldn't I - ?" He looked hopefully at Bodie. 

"You stay down there. Not having those sharp elbows up here with me," said Bodie and blew out the candle, leaving Doyle muttering in the dark. 

Still grumbling, Doyle settled down. He was warm anyway and was presently asleep. Bodie, deep in a highly erotic dream, was startled awake by a howl of terror: he found Doyle in the grip of a nightmare. He got out of bed and shook him awake. 

"What the hell's the matter?" he asked as Doyle clung to him, shaking. "Come on, it's all right. That damned book, I expect. Dream the shuffling thing was after you?" He patted him awkwardly. 

Doyle sniffed. "That and real things I remember. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." 

"Come on," said Bodie. "Get on the bed with me. Wrap that rug around you. I won't let anything get you." 

Doyle settled by him quietly. "Sorry, Bodie, stupid thing to do," he said. 

"Not stupid at all. I used to wake the whole house sometimes with nightmares after I got back from Spain. Get to sleep now." He tucked a comforting arm around Doyle until he fell asleep again. 

oOo 

Doyle carefully finished writing his name. Sir Raymond McDonnell, Esq. He wasn't sure about the Sir or the Esq. but it looked well, he decided. Be even better with a coronet over it, so he added one. Or Baron McDonnell of Chaldon. He tried that too. 

Celia glanced over. "Why not Raymond, Duke of Chaldon?" she suggested. 

"Going it a bit, that, isn't it?" asked Doyle worriedly. 

"Oh, I don't think so, dear. Our second cousin Peregrine on mother's side is a Duke just because his great grandmother slept with Good King Charles, and a revolting little pipsqueak he is too. On the other hand, Sir William Bodie of Chaldon might object strongly to you helping yourself to part of his title." 

"You mean William is a Sir?" asked Doyle. "Doesn't strike me as one." 

Celia considered a moment. "Yes, I know what you mean. I suppose he must be, unless it went with Occy. Papa was certainly a baronet. Don't think William bothers about it anyway." 

"How did your father get it?" asked Doyle. "Being made a baronet, I mean." 

"He wasn't," said Celia. "One of our ancestors did something unspeakable in the Wars of the Roses. Then we acquired the estate through a bit of sharp practice in the time of Henry VII... or was it VIII? Anyway, nothing to get excited about. Here, help me get these miniatures out of their frames." 

Doyle set to. "You going to clean them?" he asked. 

"No, I'm going to sell the frames. We need the money. They can go in these plain frames." 

"That's where William's watch and fob have gone, then?" said Doyle. 

"Yes, on the doctor's fees, and we won't get any more credit unless we settle some of the bills. This picture is of William. I made him have it done when he went in the army." 

Doyle looked in surprise at the small painting. "Bright-looking lad, wasn't he? Scowls all the time now, miserable bugger. Always threatening to hand me over to the Runners." 

"He won't," said Celia. "A lot happened to William, none of it good, and a lot was his own fault. He's an idiot about women. You should have seen the cow he got engaged to, all wrong for him. Thank God she broke the engagement. Then there was Lucy, of course. If he goes ahead and marries Julia Willougby, well, she has a temper worse than his, and they don't like each other. It's just because our estates are adjoining, and he needs an heir for Chaldon - if he holds on to it of course. But he's always been the kindest brother in the world to me, and I'd hate him to go the way of Occy. I'm so afraid he will." 

Doyle stood up. "Don't worry, Celia, I'll see the daft bastard doesn't. Have to go to the stables now, see Mat about that new horse." 

Celia looked after him. "Well, well," she remarked. Later, collecting the paintings together, she found she was one short. 

oOo 

Doyle looked up and, smiling brightly, swept up the pile of guineas from the table. "Thank you for a very pleasant evening, gentlemen," he said sincerely. "I hope we meet again." 

From the glum expressions of his companions, this hope was not widely shared. 

"I'm afraid I must leave now," he went on. "I will remember you all to my cousin, Major Bodie." 

One of the players, a man Doyle thought of as Ratface, looked up sharply. "You haven't been at Chaldon long, Mr. Doyle?" 

"No, I only recently arrived from abroad - Mr. Clifford, isn't it?" 

The man nodded. "Yes, I am a land agent hereabouts, working for the Talbot estate. I know Major Bodie's family very well." 

"Indeed," said Doyle. "I must mention to him I met you." Better watch out for that one, he thought to himself, then repeated his farewells and left. 

As he rode back, he chuckled to himself. Celia would be pleased to hear the men who had rooked her brother on many occasions had been skinned themselves. Bodie may have been an easy mark but against Doyle they hadn't a hope; he'd found them very amateur. He shook his head, reflecting that his hard-earned education on the streets was of more use than Bodie's fancy one. 

Still, better not let him know I've found the gaming room at the 'Hawk and Buckle', he thought. Don't know how he'd take it, especially as he had seen me to my room, then locked the main door. Easy, that had been, must get a better lock fitted; key for me first, of course. Good thing Celia told me about that place. He'd listened intently when Celia had complained about the local gentry gambling there. Then, wearing a suit of Octavius', altered by Jemima to fit him, and raising a small sum on some silver he had 'borrowed', he'd gone into business on his own and very profitably too... As he neared the house, he slowed his horse to a walk (no sense in waking Bodie), stabled it, and slipped back inside. He was just crossing the dimly lit hall when: "Oh, God," said a voice.

There was the sound of shattering glass. Doyle turned. 

Bodie was standing in the library doorway, a broken glass at his feet and a bottle in one hand. He was, Doyle realised, very drunk indeed. 

"'Lo, Bodie," said Doyle. "Couldn't sleep, got up for a book." 

Bodie nodded, and turning, stumbled back into the library. Doyle following him, found him, as expected, pouring himself another drink. Bodie looked at him again. 

"Thought you were - for a moment - you know, same build..." 

"Yes, can imagine," said Doyle. "See many ghosts, do you?" 

"No," said Bodie. "Hear them more." He shuddered. "Keep screaming, you see. Try to shut it out... but..." He emptied the glass. 

"Bad tonight, was it?" asked Doyle quietly. 

Bodie stared past him. "Yes. I kept hearing him calling me, then it changes, isn't human any more, just..." He stopped. 

Doyle suddenly realised he was crying and without thinking pulled him close, rocking him. "Come to bed, Bodie," he said after a while. "Fire's out, it's too cold down here." 

"No, I don't want to sleep, only start dreaming again. Thought they'd stopped." He looked up at Doyle. "Ray? Keeping you up... Why are you - ?" 

"Come on," said Doyle firmly. "I'll keep the devils away from you. As you did for me." Bodie was finally persuaded and made his unsteady way upstairs. 

It took all Doyle's strength to get him to his room, then onto the bed. "Have to stop this, you know," he remarked. "Too damned heavy for me. I'll get your boots off, you can sleep in the rest." Bodie nodded, and after a fumbling attempt to remove his waistcoat, gave up. Doyle eventually removed it and pulled a blanket over him. 

Bodie reached up. "Don't go, just stay a while, please." 

Doyle looked at him. Looks like a kid frightened of the dark, he thought. 

"I wasn't going," he said. "Move up a bit... There, feeling better now?" 

Bodie nodded slowly. "It's quiet now." He stared at Doyle. "You're very handsome now you're scrubbed, you know," he said, surprised. "Big green eyes, just like... Don't remember... Could get very fond of you.... Not going to, though." 

Doyle grinned at him. "Have you had a skinful. Go to sleep before you say anything you'll regret." 

"No," said Bodie, "I wouldn't regret it, just not sensible... Pity." He leaned over, kissed Doyle firmly, and settled with his head on his shoulder. 

Doyle lay there thinking. So that's it. Nice chink in your armour there, Major. See if I can use that... Celia said you fell for the wrong people, very handy if I'm one of 'em. 

As soon as he was sure Bodie was sound asleep, he wriggled free. He was just about to leave the room when he noticed the desk drawer was open. He'd never managed that lock. He glanced at Bodie, who was still well away, then looked through the contents. Nothing much: papers, another of those little pictures - handsome young spark in a uniform - was it you? Bodie stirred. He hurriedly shut the drawer and turned the key, then went back to the bed. 

He rose early, leaving Bodie still dead to the world. When he did awake he was suffering from an appalling headache and didn't appear to remember anything of the night before. Doyle wasn't sure whether he was grateful or not. 

Over the next few days Doyle became uneasily aware that his feelings towards Bodie were changing. It didn't do to go soft, he told himself, it was bad for business. So the sod is human, doesn't mean he wouldn't turn you out if you were no more use to him. You know how much a gentleman's word is worth to someone like you. But, well, he wanted to be able to pass as a gentleman to show Bodie he could do it, be just as good as the lad in the painting, even if he wasn't born to it. He'd show him. 

So, to Bodie's surprise, he found Doyle had really begun to work. Celia, too, watched with delight as the grubby, foul-mouthed little pickpocket transformed himself into a passable young man of fashion, drawling, affected voice, the lot. Even Bodie was impressed with his protege. 

"You know, Celia," he remarked as they sat in the parlour late one afternoon, "our Jemmy looked very good last night at the Wainwrights; he made a far better showing than young Toby. God, he's a mess, they're having a lot of trouble with him." 

"What did he do this time?" asked Celia, glowering at her needlework. "How I hate Berlin Wool Work, it's mind destroying. Are you really sure you want the Victory in woolwork on the wall? I'm damned if I do." 

"Thought you were doing it for Aunt Ag. Young Toby? Oh, he came in pissed, fell over, insulted two ladies, then collapsed over the table. Can't hold his drink." Bodie grinned. "Mind you, it did enliven a dull evening. Sharp lad, our Jem, took everyone off for me on the way home, better than a play. Come on well, hasn't he? Never have to tell him anything twice now." He walked to the sideboard. 

"William, leave that bottle alone, you've had enough already. Light the lamp, will you, it's getting dark." 

Bodie lit the lamp and drew the curtains. He glanced out. "Hope Jem gets home soon, he must have had trouble leading that second horse. I should have gone with him." 

"No," said Celia. "If you had, Farmer Bates would have wanted to know your intentions towards Molly, and we both know what they are." 

"We've called it off, anyway," said Bodie. "She's marrying the landlord of the 'Brindled Cow' over at Nutfield." 

"Very appropriate," said Celia. "She will be able to exchange memories with Lucy Porter! Not in the family way, is she?" 

"Miaow," said Bodie, "and no, she is not. Lucy's back from London, by the way, sends her regards to you. She looks very well." 

"Does she," said Celia. "I'd better warn you, William, that Doyle seems to have developed a nasty case of hero-worship towards you." 

"Hell!" said Bodie. "Just what I need! Are you sure?" 

"Definitely," said Celia with conviction. "He's expressed a great interest in your war in Spain, he's sure Lord Arthur won't be able to manage without you." 

"He's right, of course," murmured Bodie. 

"Idiot!" said Celia with conviction. "You are starting to intrude far too much into his studies. He also thinks you are brave, dashing and handsome: I think he has lost his senses. I've told him what a mess you really are but he won't listen. It came on suddenly, like colic." 

"Must be losing my touch," said Bodie, grinning. "Better go back to yelling at him all the time." 

"Ah, but that won't work any more," said Celia with a giggle. "He's learnt the Black Dog's bark is far worse than his bite." A cushion was flung at her; she threw it back with enthusiasm. They settled down again. 

"Celia, does Ray ever mention his real parents to you? When we met I asked him about them in case they should turn up, making trouble, you know. He said they were dead but I often wondered about them afterwards. He never discusses his early life with me." 

Celia put down her woolwork with relief. "Well, he tells all these wonderful stories. His parents were of noble birth, who perished under the Terror. He was rescued and brought to England but the agents of the Revolution are still hunting him. So he has to keep his noble birth a secret from all. They even sold him to a kidsman once. What's that, William?" 

"Some criminal, I expect," said Bodie vaguely. "Anything else?" 

"I rather like the French Revolution one, myself," said Celia. "He tells it with such verve. Smuggled out in the laundry basket while the mobs howled for blood round the prison. The one where he is the son of the last Stuart pretender is good too, had to tell him the dates are all wrong. A pity, it's a very affecting story." 

Bodie roared. "I'll be bound. Any idea of the truth in all this?" 

"Not really, I don't think Jemmy has either." She was quiet for a moment. "But there's one constant factor: he is firm his mother was a lady, she sang to him, told him stories and they aren't the sort you'd expect. Also, they seem to have been comfortably off. Then it all ends quite suddenly and the stories get very fanciful." 

Bodie considered a moment. "His mother could have been a high-class whore, her protector died and they didn't want the child and they were turned out. Or he could really have been stolen, it does happen, they say. He must have been an engaging child." 

"And clever too," said Celia. "Do you know he can cry at will, it's fascinating. I believe him about his mother. Someone was very kind to him once, you can tell. He's very affectionate under all the nonsense." 

"You sound like one of those books," said Bodie. "'The Noble Foundling' and all that sort of rubbish. It's getting late, where the devil is he?" 

Mat hurried into the room. "Two horses just came into the yard. Jem isn't with them, he must have taken a fall. His mare has bad cuts on her shoulder." He went out again, Bodie hurrying after him. When he reached the yard Mat and Tim, the stable lad, were examining Doyle's horse. 

"Better get a poultice slapped on that," Mat was saying. 

Bodie grabbed a lantern. "I'll take a walk down the driveway looking for him, you follow me with the trap. Don't know how far back he came off," he ordered and started to make his way down the driveway. To his relief he hadn't gone far when the light picked up something at the side of the pathway. Doyle lay there in a crumpled heap, his white shirt catching the light. Bodie knelt beside him. 

Still breathing, thank God. Out cold, head's bleeding slightly. Can't see any other injury. He felt carefully for broken bones. "No, I don't think he's broken anything. He's cold." He pulled his coat off and wrapped it around Doyle, who began to move slightly, then groaned. "My head..." He opened his eyes and peered blearily up at Bodie. "Is my horse all right?" 

"Yes, your damned horse is all right, and you'll be as soon as Mat can get that damned pony in the shafts and we can get you back to the house." 

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Doyle with conviction. 

"Come on, I'll hold your head. Happens sometimes with a bad head knock, did to me," said Bodie, making comforting noises as Doyle was very sick indeed. 

"Here they are now, soon have you warm at home again." He noticed that Doyle, in spite of his discomfort, had huddled closer and was wearing a rather pleased expression. So Celia was correct... 

The trap arrived and they lifted Doyle into it, and sent Timothy, protesting he was 'afeared of the dark', for the doctor. 

The doctor, on arrival, confirmed that apart from a badly cut head and sundry cuts and bruises Doyle seemed to have escaped serious injury. 

"I've given him a draught, Major Bodie. He should sleep the clock round, be over the worst of it when he wakes up. Can see the look of your dear mother about him. It's a blessing he's turned up. Heard about young Wainwright, have you?" 

"No," said Bodie. "What about him? And how did you know Ray is my cousin?" 

"Heard in the village he'd turned up. Met him in the 'Hawk and Buckle' too. He's a bright lad. Has the devil's own luck with cards. Young Toby? Oh, he set fire to his nightshirt; nasty mess. But he's survived till the next time. Said he saw rats dancing on his bedposts." 

"Stupid young fool," said Bodie. His expression became broodier as he saw the doctor out. 

"Seems as though Jem's presence here is known all over the village, Celia. I'll murder him when he wakes up. Gambling at the 'Hawk'. Still, he took in that old fool..." 

"William, his fall - it was an accident, wasn't it? Mr. Clifford has been asking a lot of questions in the village, Jemima says." Celia looked worried. 

"Should think so. Meg probably shied at a rabbit and that avenue is full of potholes. I'm always telling Jem not to gallop up it hell for leather like he does. I hardly think dear Joseph would try to murder poor little cousin Raymond, do you? He doesn't need the property that badly. No, Mr. Clifford is always snooping about to see I don't damage the house and estate before he can get his sticky fingers on it. Good mind to burn the house down if it comes to it, teach the bastard a lesson." 

"Wouldn't do us much good either," said Celia tartly. "I'm worried about Jemmy." 

"No, not you too! Brought out your maternal streak with his big green eyes, has he? Soft as butter on him, all you women are. I'll look after him for you." 

Celia threw a cushion with accuracy. "You can get me up to bed, it's after twelve. And I still don't like it." 

Bodie carried her up as usual, then returned to Doyle's room. 

Just keep an eye on him, he thought and settled down for an uncomfortable night on the couch. 

It was almost midday before Doyle began to stir. He looked about him for a moment, taking in Bodie unshaven and dozing on the couch. He'd been given extra blankets too. "Morning," he said loudly. 

Bodie awoke with a start and glared at him. "No need to sound that bright," he remarked. "How's your head?" 

"Still hurts. Is my horse all right? What happened? I remember turning into the avenue, then a man was poking me, and you were looking all anxious." 

"Worried about the horse," said Bodie. "And it's all right, just a cut shoulder. Like some broth? Jemima has some ready for you keeping warm on the stove." 

"Yes," said Doyle. "I don't remember coming down..." 

Bodie went and got the broth. Doyle, after an appreciative sniff, started to eat. 

"Your own fault for galloping up that avenue," said Bodie. "Told you about it often enough. New horse is all right, just followed Meg home. Get that down you, then have another rest." 

"Had enough rest," said Doyle. "Want to talk to you... about your family. If I wasn't here Joseph would get the lot, is that right?" Bodie nodded. "He's older than you but I'm younger, or at least Cousin Raymond is, I don't know how old I am. I thought the eldest got everything?" 

"Well," said Bodie, "let's see if I can explain. My grandfather's sons all died young or unmarried, which left his three daughters co-heiresses. They were Elizabeth, who ran away with Captain McDonnell; Augusta, who married a lawyer called George Stanley, who was knighted for sharp business practice later; and Emily, who was my mother. He wanted the estates to go to his eldest daughter's child: he always had a soft spot for her. It wouldn't have affected Celia and me but our father mortgaged the estate to Sir Raymond Talbot, my grandfather. He needed to raise some money for his women and his gambling, damned old fool. 

"Anyway, Grandfather promised me he'd cancel the debt and leave Chaldon to me free and clear, no way my father would clear the mortgage. Then grandfather was killed out hunting before he could alter his will. So that's why I need you to get my property back. I should have still been in the army but when that fool Occy got killed I had to come back. He'd have been no help anyway, never had any sense." 

"I see," said Doyle. "You didn't get on with your father, did you?" 

"I did not. Glad to get into the army and away from here. Then when I came home he was nursing his gout at Brighton, till he dropped dead at the gaming table. On a losing streak too, he never did learn. Jem, what do you remember of your parents? Really remember, I mean." 

Doyle thought a moment. He'd told so many different stories over the years he wasn't always sure what was true any more. 

"Not very much for sure," he said finally. "I remember my mother laughing and lifting me up to a man on a horse. He took me and we galloped along a beach. I think he was my father. Yes, I'm sure he was, he used to sing to me. My mother... she was a lady... talked to me, told me stories... Then one day some men called and she started crying and said we would have to leave. Afterwards I remember shaking her but she wouldn't wake up. Nellie said I had to go with her. I hated her and that man, he said I was a stupid brat, hit me. Then he said he knew someone who needed a boy. That's true, because they told me after I'd been sold to a kidsman. Know what that is, Bodie? And a Flash-house?" 

"No," said Bodie. "Some sort of tavern..." 

Doyle was silent a while. "They teach you things there: how to get on in the streets. Send out the boys in the morning. You don't do well, you don't eat. Then the lodging houses, learnt more there. I was a pot boy for a while, too and worked as a groom. Always went back to thieving. Pay's better..." 

"Could end up dancing at Newgate, too," said Bodie. "Ever considered that?" 

Doyle shrugged. "Lost some good mates that way. Most get transported, which is better than starving slowly. I used to eat like a lord when I'd done well, go to the theatre (I like the plays), mix with the gentry. Surprising what can fall into your pockets." He grinned at Bodie. "Found you, didn't I?" 

"I could have slit your nose for you, or handed you over," said Bodie. "Could have been in Van Diemens Land yourself, by now." 

"No," said Doyle. "Not you. Though I thought so at first. You don't frighten me any more, Bodie. I'm getting sleepy." 

"Oh, don't I?" said Bodie. "You get back to sleep, you'll feel better in the morning." 

He sat by Doyle a while longer till he was sound asleep. Odd story, he thought, wonder if it's true. Well, some of it anyway. No, it sounds like one of Celia's novels. You can tell 'em, young Jemmy. He ruffled Doyle's curls and left the room. 

oOo 

In a few days Doyle was back to normal and Bodie decided it was time to engage their battle plan. 

"Celia," he remarked, "I think we should give a dinner and invite Aunt Augusta and dear Joseph. I think it's time they met young Raymond." 

"Why?" asked Celia, looking up from her book. "You can't stand Joseph and Aunt always comments on the vast amount you drink." 

"True, but I want to see Joseph's reactions before we trot Jem down to meet Mr. Coke, give the lad a workout. It's Coke who will be the danger." 

"Very well," said Celia. "I'll have to see what Jemima can feed them on, unless we can obtain more credit in the village. It could be very elderly mutton. You'd better see what we have left in the cellar to drink; the last bottle you brought up was fit only to clean the knives." 

Bodie got up. "I'll look now. Where's Doyle? He can hold the lamp for me." 

"In the kitchen, reading. He says it's warmer in there." She shivered. "I suspect he is right... Oh, I keep dreaming of a warm room in Bath." 

Bodie gave her a quick hug. "Hang on, love, we'll make it yet. Doyle!" he bellowed. "Get up here." A muffled grumble came from below. 

"Right now!" yelled Bodie. "Stir yourself." 

Doyle appeared and was handed the lantern. He didn't look pleased. 

The cellar felt damp and cold. Doyle, looking about, shivered as Bodie searched through the racks. 

"What are you looking for?" he asked finally. 

"What do you think?" said Bodie. "Ah, thought there was some left. Hold that light steady." 

"I used to sleep in places like this," said Doyle mournfully. "Damp, cold, only rags to cover us." He sniffed pathetically. 

"Lucky you met me, then, wasn't it?" said Bodie cheerfully. "Must be just like a home from home for you. Can bring your bed down here if you like." 

This generous offer was ignored, Doyle glowering as Bodie dusted off some bottles. "Brandy, it must be the last two. Well, Joseph makes such a play of being abstemious so there should be plenty left for me. I'll take them both up. Is that your teeth chattering, Doyle?" There was a grumbling assent. "Come on, then." Bodie led the way back upstairs. 

"Who's coming?" asked Doyle, now crouched warming himself over the kitchen fire. 

Bodie, still wiping the dust of ages off the bottles, looked over. "My Aunt Augusta and her son, Sir Joseph Stanley, to meet formally little cousin Raymond." He made a mocking bow in Doyle's direction. 

"No!" said Doyle. "I'm not meeting him. He's got the evil eye. Heard about him in the Dials." 

"Rubbish!" said Bodie. "Can't stand him myself, but a pillar of rectitude is dear Joseph. A damned cold fish. Where do you hear such things?" 

"In St. Giles," said Doyle. "It's true. Anyone crosses him, things happen to them." 

"Doyle, for heaven's sake." But Doyle was really frightened, Bodie realised. Well, with his background, and Joseph was said to be hard on his servants. "Have you ever met?" he asked worriedly. 

"No, never," said Doyle. 

"That's all right then. Just forget you're Jem Doyle from the Holy Land, and remember you're my cousin Raymond McDonnell, and as good as Joseph! You can do it." 

Doyle nodded. Perhaps some of the stories weren't true, and with Bodie here nothing could happen to him, he was sure of that. 

oOo 

Celia looked at her table with pride: their remaining silver well polished; the best damask tablecloth; a fine goose from Mat's sister; two salmon from (unknown to him) Sir Austin Wainwright; the sparkling glasses; brandy and port on the side. She was wearing her one diamond brooch and a dress cut down from one of her mother's by Jemima. Doyle entered and Celia looked at him with approval. 

"Oh, you do look handsome, Raymond. What a good thing you and Octavius were much of a size, and he had excellent taste in clothes. Doesn't he look well, William?" 

Doyle went pink, he was excessively well scrubbed and did indeed look quite the gentleman. Bodie, also very spruce, looked him up and down. 

"You do. Just don't mention Seven Dials, or I'll throttle you." 

Doyle began to bristle. Then they heard a carriage approaching. 

"Will he have Amelia with him, I wonder," said Celia. "Poor thing, I heard he beats her." 

"No, Ma'am," said Jemima. "She's gone to her parents in Scotland. Had it from my sister's girl who does for Lady Mostyn." 

"Servants," said Bodie in an undertone to Doyle, "are always the best informed." 

"They do say she's in the family way, Ma'am," Jemima went on, "and it's known that - " 

"William, the door," said Celia. "Kindly greet our guests. I will ring for you, Hedges, when we are ready to eat." 

Doyle, standing by Celia's chair, swallowed nervously. She squeezed his hand. "Come on, Jem," she whispered. "Just pretend it's all a game." 

Later, from her position at the head of the table, Celia studied her guests. It all seemed to be going very well. Doyle was giving an impeccable performance of a shy, diffident young man thrown among unknown relatives. Perhaps he was overdoing the air of respectful deference to Bodie, who seemed to find it annoying and was also making heavy inroads into the brandy. Joseph appeared the perfect gentleman in dress and manner, but she'd never liked him. A cold fish, her brother said. Doyle, she noticed, was avoiding him. The servants said no good of him, he was harsh to them and his wife, Amelia, whom he continually reproached for her failure to provide him with an heir. Rumour had it she would not have been in the least averse to a divorce but Sir Joseph was unwilling to relinquish his control of part of her considerable fortune. 

She suddenly realised Aunt Augusta was glaring at her brother. "You drink far too much, William," Aunt remarked. "It was the death of your poor brother and I know your late father had cause to regret his dissipation in his later years." 

"Only when he couldn't see the cards," said Bodie, refilling his glass. 

"William!" said Celia loudly. "Ring for dessert, would you?" 

Bodie, ignoring the handbell, walked to the door and bellowed, "Jemima" down the hall, as usual. Doyle hurriedly repressed a giggle. 

"Mr. McDonnell," said Joseph, turning to him, "your arrival here was most opportune. You met Major Bodie in London I believe?" 

Doyle gazed back at Joseph, his green eyes showing a child-like candor. "Yes," he replied, " a very fortunate meeting for me. I was alone in the City, trying to trace an old friend of my parents - we had lost touch after their deaths." A sad expression flickered across his face. "I was on my way to the Army Club to try and obtain information, when I met Major Bodie, who kindly assisted me. I was, of course, unaware of our relationship due to the sad estrangement in our family. It came as a very pleasant surprise when I found he was my cousin." He gazed at Bodie with open affection. Bodie shifted uncomfortably. 

"Who were you trying to trace?" asked Joseph with a detached air. Bodie crossed his fingers. 

"Colonel Dermott Fitzgerald," said Doyle easily, "an old friend of my parents. He was my godfather." He smiled. "I remember he gave me a hobby horse once. I was anxious to meet him again but could not remember his regiment, and as you know, there are many Irish officers of that name in the service of the King. And he could have retired." 

"General Fitzgerald," said Bodie, "as he is now, served with the Irish Hussars. He is at present living in Madeira for health reasons. My cousin will be able to meet him on his return to England, and I was happy to inform him." 

"I have heard of the general," said Joseph, "but I was unaware of any family connections, William." 

"Raymond's father served with him, with distinction, in France. For the old regime, naturally." 

"Raymond," said Aunt Augusta, "would you pass me the wine, please." 

Doyle rose and refilled her glass, smiling at her as he did so. She looked hard at him. "Well, you've better manners than William, I'll say that for you," she remarked. 

"Mother," said Joseph, "I think we should leave now. Dear Celia needs to rest." 

"Nonsense," said Celia, "I feel quite well. Tell me, Aunt, have you heard the latest about Sir Austin Wainwright and the dairy maid?" 

"Well," said Augusta, "I did hear that Lady Wain - " 

"William," said Joseph loudly, "that man of yours, Puddock, you're going to have to get rid of him. Sir Austin is sure he's been poaching all over his land." 

"Bloody gossip," said Bodie. "Mat is the soul of honesty, don't know what we'd do without him. If you don't keep that ruffian of yours, Clifford, off my land, Joseph, I'll horsewhip the blackguard next time I see him. And another thing - " 

"Perhaps," said Augusta, "it is time we departed. Gets chilly these evenings." 

Joseph rose. "We will be dining at Lord Coleport's tomorrow. I hear the company will be most distinguished." 

"Not if Sam Coleport's there, it won't be. Sell his mother to the highest bidder, he would, much like another who will be at his table." Bodie had by now reached the aggressive stage in his cups. 

The guests made their departure with the minimum of farewells. Celia breathed a sigh of relief, then glared at her brother. "I suppose with you being so objectionable they were unlikely to notice any slips Ray may have made, but really, William!" 

"Thank God they've gone," said Bodie, reaching for the last bottle. 

"You did very well, Ray," said Celia. "Didn't he?" 

"He did all right," said Bodie. "But next time you decide to embroider a little, let me know beforehand. Nearly couldn't remember the damned regiment. Good thing they can't check up with him." 

"Well, I didn't know it, did I," said Ray. "Just knew he was a colonel because mother told me, and my father called him Dermott. Just remembered about him. I called him Uncle Fitz." 

"Oh, stop romancing," said Bodie. "You didn't know you had a father last week. When we see Mr. Coke don't go adding any bits. Try anything fancy with him and he'll cut your ears off." He stopped and poured himself another drink. 

"Oh dear," said Celia. "Call Jemima, would you Ray, he's going to be too drunk to get himself upstairs, let alone me." 

Doyle and Jemima helped her to her room. Doyle went back down to the drawing room. Bodie was still sitting glumly over his half empty bottle. Doyle removed it from his hand and poured himself a decent measure. 

"Didn't invite you," said Bodie. "Go to bed, Doyle. You didn't give a bad performance, not the real thing, of course... but fair enough." 

Doyle looked at him. "Hampered, wasn't I? Didn't have the real thing to copy from, just a foul-mouthed, drunken sot. What are you trying to prove, Bodie? That you're as bad as your father and Occy? At least they enjoyed themselves, you're not. Never mind, give it another six months and you'll be having the horrors like Toby Wainwright." 

"Have them now," said Bodie, staring into his glass. "Don't drink, do you, Doyle? That's only the second I've seen you take since I've known you. Why?" 

"Bad for business, it makes you clumsy. Had a good friend once, ex-soldier like you. Looked like you, too. Went on the Toby, did well for a while, plenty of money, women. Said he'd pack it in when he had a good pile, we'd go to Ireland, run some horses. Knew a lot about horses, taught me. Then one night the Runners took him when he was sodden with drink. He'd a long record, no chance of transportation. They hanged him; he took a long time to die. Don't want that to happen to you, Bodie." Doyle left the room. 

Bodie, through an alcoholic mist, was trying to think. Better humour the lad. Celia was right, encourage him a little, make him easier to handle. Less chance of him absconding with what was left of the family silver, or making trouble when it came to the parting of the ways. He knew he hadn't behaved well. Another ten minutes of Joseph, I'd have cracked that bottle across his head, sitting there, looking superior. It would do no harm to check Doyle's story, and with the old boy in Madeira. Good connections always help. He yawned and made his way unsteadily to his room. 

 

Lady Augusta gave a sigh of relief as the carriage drew up at her home. Joseph's continued silence was beginning to try her nerves. 

"I will come in a moment, Mother," he said. "I have something to discuss with you." 

"Be quick then," said Lady Augusta. "I feel a bad head coming on. The cold night air... That goose Celia served was far too rich for me, a more astringent sauce would have helped." She went into her drawing room. Good. Abigail had left a drink warming by the fire. She sipped it gratefully, it had been cold in the carriage. 

"He could be Betty's son, you know," she remarked. 

"Certainly not," said Joseph. "I'm afraid poor William has embarked on a reckless undertaking with a play-acting rogue he picked up somewhere. There is just a chance family resemblance." 

"Perhaps," said Augusta. "But I heard you had Mr. Clifford asking questions in the village, making inquiries." 

"Just a precaution," said Joseph. "This man could well have an unsavoury background, criminal associates, that kind of thing." 

"He should feel very much at home here, then," said Augusta. "I feel it would be a great pity if my poor sister's only child were to be deprived of his inheritance just because of some unfortunate incidents in his past." 

"Mother!" said Joseph, horrified. "I hope you remember he could lose the family a great deal of property and money." 

"He could also see that William and Celia keep their home, especially as he seems so fond of them both. It's a great pity my father never signed that codicil to his will leaving Chaldon free and clear to William. And if you had an ounce of integrity, Joseph, knowing that he wished to do so you would have carried out his wishes, and not introduced William to filth like Harry Devereux and the gaming room at White's. So now he hasn't a hope of repaying that mortgage. No doubt you're loading the interest, too. Now, what do you want? I'm very tired and would like to retire." 

Joseph, somewhat startled by this attack (few people stood up to him), stared at her a moment. "There have been a great many robberies in this neighbourhood lately, Mother. I thought it best if you let me have your diamonds to put in my bank for safety: the tiara Grandmother left you." 

"Oh dear," said Augusta, "didn't your dear father ever tell you? We had to raise money on it some years ago when your father had that awful row with Sir Matthew Blout; you remember, he threatened to go to the authorities if his securities were not returned. Your poor father. I remember how upset he was. Then with his business reverses we were never able to redeem the piece. It had to be sold finally. I think that was over some bonds, or was it bearer notes? I have such a poor head for business, as your dear father so often complained." She gazed at Joseph with a look of muddled simplicity; it would have earned her high praise  
from Jemmy. 

It was obvious this too had come as a shock to her son. "I must be going," he said finally. "I have business to attend to." He left, banging the door. 

Augusta heaved a sigh of relief as the front door closed. 

"All right, Abby," she called. "You can come in, now." 

Her maid entered, carrying a stout poker. "I hope that was for the fire," said Augusta. 

"Just in case, Ma'am," said Abigail. "Mr. Joseph doesn't like to be crossed." 

"No, indeed," said Augusta. "It has been an interesting evening. Now tomorrow you must pack my plate and jewelry, we are going up to London to see Mr. Coke. He will know where we can lodge it in safety." 

"Yes, Ma'am," said Abigail. "Have you seen the Pretender? What's he like?" 

"Oh, a very bright young spark, as big a villain as William, I'll be bound, but he'll make a fine heir with all his airs and graces. He's a good-hearted boy, too." 

"I suppose he couldn't be, could he?" asked Abigail wistfully. 

"No, Abby. My poor nephew died of cold and want in the stews of St. Giles. I did my best to find him but too late. A debt has to be paid. I'll see to that." 

"Yes, Ma'am," said Abigail. "I'll pack so we can leave early. Good night, Ma'am." 

"Good night," said Augusta. She sat looking into the fire a moment, then rose to look at the painting over the fireplace of her late and unlamented husband. 

"Well, George, my chance has come at last. I'm going to see William and Celia keep their home, and this ruffian of William's can have what you and Joseph have left of my father's estate! Now, I must write Amelia to put her jewels in the nearest bank and forget where it is if Joseph gets in touch with her." 

oOo 

The morning after the dinner party Doyle wandered into the kitchen. Jemima, kneading bread, looked up. 

"Where's Bodie?" he asked, seating himself at the table. 

"Over at Dane Court," she said, "and you can move from there, I'm busy. He'll probably stay over a day or two, he said." 

Doyle moved to settle himself by the warm oven. "Who lives at Dane Court?" he asked. "He's been over there a lot lately." 

"Mrs. Lucy Porter, that's who," said Jemima with a sniff. "Move over, Jem. In my way again," she grumbled. "I'll call you when the baking's done." 

Doyle, his curiosity unsatisfied, went into the drawing room. Celia, on the sofa, was writing busily. "Shut the door, Jem, there's a terrible draught," she remarked. 

Doyle seated himself by the smoky fire. "Celia, who is Mrs. Lucy Porter?" 

"A neighbour of ours," said Celia absently. "She has a small estate, runs it for her young son. She's a widow. We were children together." 

"Oh," said Doyle. "Is she Bodie's mistress?" 

Celia looked up. "You'll have to ask him that. I wouldn't advise it." 

"No," said Doyle. 

Mat, on being approached, was much more informative. "Aha," he cackled. "Little Lucy Fraser as was, best horsewoman round here. Her family married her off sudden-like, to old Sir Roland Porter. Got her with child, then dropped dead." 

"How old was he?" asked Doyle. 

"About eighty odd, there was talk at the time but her Tommy is a bright little lad, should do well. He's the image of his mother - just as well." 

"Mat... are she and William...?" 

"Eh?" said Mat. "Of course they are. He doesn't go over there to admire her dairy herd. But she won't marry him. Lose her widow's mite from the estate, she would, and master hasn't got any money. They're all round little Mrs. Porter like wasps round a jam pot but she's got to be careful with her son to consider. They say a Major Dennison is the likely one. Well-connected, he is." 

"Bodie is talking about finding a heiress," said Doyle. "Think he'll have any luck?" 

"Only other one round here is Miss Julia Willougby," said Mat. "Now her father did make an offer to Master William, then he found the estate was mortgaged." He shook his head and grinned. "That Miss Julia has a tongue like a razor, take the skin off an ox she would." 

Doyle went back into the house. If he was going to deflect Bodie from his pursuit of heiresses, he'd better start now. He, too, had a battle plan. 

oOo

After a few days Bodie returned in great good humour, for which Doyle grudgingly gave Mrs. Porter the credit. Then, late one afternoon, Timothy trotted into the yard from the village, with a letter. Bodie glanced at it, then tossed it over to Celia. 

"For you, love." 

"Oh, it's from Fanny. She's inviting me to stay in London for a few weeks. Oh, William, it would be wonderful, hearing all the news, meeting people. But would the carriage be fit for the journey, wouldn't the traffic upset Timothy? And I only have one good dress and Fanny entertains a lot. Oh dear, never mind, I'll write and - " 

"Nonsense," said Bodie. "Do you the world of good to get out of this hole. I could sell - " 

Doyle tossed a pocket book onto the table; it was very heavy. 

Bodie hurriedly checked his. No, it was still there and never that full anyway. 

Doyle turned to Celia, who was staring at the money. 

"Help yourself," he said grandly. "I owe it to you anyway, for feeding and clothing me all this time. Had a spot of luck with the cards at the 'Hawk and Buckle'." He avoided Bodie's eyes. 

"Oh, Jem," said Celia, "you are a dear. I'll just take enough for two dresses and an outfit for Jemima. She will have to come with me as my maid." 

Bodie roared. "That I must see, but Jem, dear, would you come outside with me a moment..." They left Celia and Jemima happily making plans. 

"Right," said Bodie. "Do I have to go and check which of the family possessions are missing to raise that sort of money, or are you going to tell me?" 

Doyle looked reproachful. "You know I wouldn't steal from you or Miss Celia," he began, his professional whine as ever putting Bodie's teeth on edge; also, he knew nothing of the sort, "I just wanted to brighten her sad life, put some colour into her drab existence..." 

"Never mind that," said Bodie. "Answer the question, or else." 

"Won it, didn't I," said Doyle. "Gaming room, the 'Hawk and Buckle'. They know you there. Major Bodie always loses like a gentlemen they said; didn't like it themselves, losing I mean." He grinned at Bodie. "Go on, William, it's your money I won back. Babes in arms, they were, against a stacked deck." 

Bodie looked at him and began to laugh. "Wish I'd seen it, little Jemmy skinning them. I don't care what you sold, it's worth it for that." 

"Got that back," said Jemmy. "Carriage clock in the hall. One of 'em, a Mr. Clifford, seemed a nasty piece of work, said he knew your family." 

Bodie stopped laughing. "He knew who you were; you told them I was your cousin?" 

"Needed to get some practice in, didn't I," said Doyle. "Bit of property makes you seem a good mark, and I was ever so innocent." He rolled his eyes. 

Bodie chuckled. "I bet. But Jem, I want you to be more careful in future and keep out of the 'Hawk and Buckle'. And thank you for Celia, Lady Hesketh has a very pleasant home in Hanover Square and I know she'll take good care of Celia." 

Doyle nodded happily. It would be a lot easier to seduce Bodie with his sister out of the way. He didn't feel right about it otherwise. Money well invested. Once he had Bodie in his pocket, it would be simple to persuade him to increase his share of the loot. 

Bodie went back inside to get involved in the discussion whether or not Timothy would be capable of driving the battered family carriage to London; he had hardly been outside his native village and was noted for his lack of adventuring spirit, the news that he might have to drive to London terrified him. In the event, it was decided for everyone's peace of mind, that Bodie would drive the ladies to the point where they could catch the London coach. As he acidly pointed out, Lord Arthur had moved an entire army across Spain in the time it was taking to get two blasted females to London! 

oOo

With Jemima's departure, chaos again returned to the kitchen. Doyle spent a short time trying to teach Polly and a young girl from the village, who answered to Em, to cook, then gave up and returned Polly to her pigs and hens, and dismissed Em, whose habit of loosening her bodice every time Bodie came into the kitchen he found most irritating. He then engaged a woman of Mat's acquaintance. Annie she was, of grim aspect, but she proved to be a good plain cook. Bodie was no help at all, merely complaining if his meals were late and even more if they were inedible. 

A Major Dennison called, an old army friend, Doyle gathered, presently staying with his mother at Dane Court, the home of Mrs. Porter. Doyle found the Major stuffy but basically a good sort and wished him well in his courtship of Mrs. Porter. Bodie had been extremely civil to the gentleman, but on his departure flung another bottle at his father's portrait. 

But even that was beginning to pall, thought Bodie sadly as he prowled the house looking for diversion. Then he discovered Doyle practice-dealing a pack of cards. He watched, fascinated. 

"You could get yourself a job at White's," he said finally. "Deal as well as any I've seen there." 

"Lose much there, did you?" asked Doyle. 

Bodie grimaced. "There, and at Bath, where the game's straight. Jemmy...." 

"Would be at Bath, Mr. Nash is very strict about that. At White's, well... Sit down. What did you play - faro?" 

"Yes." 

"Let's see then. Take a few hands with me." Doyle began to deal. 

After his eighth consecutive poor hand, Bodie looked up. "You're cheating!" 

"Sometimes, and dealing myself a good hand. Be more careful about it, if I was at White's, I'd have a partner in the game, too, who'd tip me on your cards, not that I'd need it, a good player can tell what's on the table. And they pick their pigeons carefully, nothing like a nice bright soldier boy, a bit fuddled with drink, who believes he's playing with gentlemen." 

Bodie shrugged. "Used to think my luck would change. Wish I'd known that two years ago." 

"That's what they all think," said Doyle. "Helps to keep us in business." He went to the sideboard and came back with two glasses and a bottle. 

"Hope that's not from our cellar," said Bodie. 

"No, proceeds from the race-meeting yesterday. Mat and I did quite well." 

"I don't want to know," said Bodie firmly. "Not expecting the local constable, are we?" 

"'Course not," said Doyle. "Just a few friendly wagers, and a couple of hands of cards." 

Bodie, looking disbelieving, tried the bottle. "Um, not bad," he remarked. They settled companionably by the fire. 

"Bodie, just why did you stop your friends carving me up in the gardens? The Runners wouldn't have minded getting me with bits missing and you knew I was a thief." 

"Couldn't present the heir in a damaged condition now, could I?" said Bodie lightly. 

"No. You hadn't looked at me properly then," said Doyle. 

Bodie grinned. "Oh, I had." He sobered. "I hate that kind of cruelty. Things I saw in Spain, wish I could forget them." 

"Never did pay you back for the watch," said Doyle. 

"Yes, you did." Bodie smiled at him. "You were kind to Celia. I'd better get to bed. Good night, Jemmy." 

Doyle stared after him. His feelings towards Bodie were becoming a problem. What he'd told himself was a useful expedient was really much more; he knew he wanted his life with Bodie and Celia to go on even after the success of their venture. So admit that was what he wanted, and start work on Bodie right now. Haven't time to wait for him to make a move, might have 'views' on taking advantage of 'unfortunates'. Doyle had no objection to being taken advantage of if it resulted in him not having to return to Seven Dials and his former precarious way of life. Also, once Bodie had his estate back and money in his pocket, there was the prospect of the awful Julia appearing on the scene again. So he picked up a bottle and started upstairs after Bodie. 

 

Bodie was scowling at himself in the mirror. Look at you, going daft over a green-eyed lad, who'll take you for everything that isn't nailed down then cut and run. You certainly pick them, don't you. First Caroline, then this grubby little thief. Oh, stop moaning like a love-sick ploughboy. He'd fall into your arms with no encouragement, he's been working on you to notice him for weeks now. So, let it happen, you'll enjoy it, just don't pretend it's anything more than a quick roll in the hay. Don't get serious about him, and don't let him get the upper hand once this is over. You'll have Chaldon, he'll be off on the Irish estate. You can get your commission back and marry Julia, have to have an heir for this place. 

As ever, the thought of Julia dampened his spirits. Perhaps Lucy? No, George Dennison would be marrying her; he seemed to like Tommy and would make a good stepfather to the lad. Better that way. He started to build up the fire. 

There was a knock on the door. Doyle entered with a bottle and two glasses. "Thought you'd fancy a nightcap," he remarked. "It's a lot warmer in here!" 

"So you've come like Greeks bearing gifts, have you?" said Bodie. "Hope that's not from my cellar." 

"No, too good for your cellar, this." Doyle poured out two generous glasses. He looked at the bookcase in the corner and pulled out a book. "Haven't read this one." He settled by the fire. 

Bodie, seating himself on the fireside chair, grinned down at him. "Like a cat you are, Jem." He tugged his hair gently. "You really enjoy your comforts, I half expect to hear you purr. God, I'm stiff, I shouldn't have let you talk me into that ride today." 

"You needed the exercise," said Doyle. "Get fat lying round the house all day." 

"Quiet!" ordered Bodie, taking a long drink. "I'm too comfortable to get up and thrash you." 

There was a snort. "Couldn't anyway. Bodie, are you going to get married?" 

"Why, what started you on that?" 

"Heard Mr. Willougby had made you an offer of his daughter," said Doyle. 

"Oh, did you? Well, when he knew my true circumstances, he withdrew it. A relief to me and also, I'm sure, to Julia." 

"Good," said Doyle, "because I rather fancy you myself." 

Bodie nearly choked on his brandy with amusement. "Behave yourself," he said, giving Doyle's hair a sharp tug. 

"You stop that!" said Doyle reproachfully. "I'm serious." 

"Well, then," said Bodie, "let us consider your assets. Julia has a fine estate, forty head of cattle, a large flock of sheep and the worst temper in the county, and likes me even less than I like her. What can you offer in return?" 

Doyle thought a moment. "One pair of silver shoe buckles, one good silver snuff box - " 

"I thought that had gone off the sideboard again," said Bodie. 

Doyle, unmoved, went on: "A diamond stick pin and six guineas, the rest of my winnings from the race meeting, and of course my person and undying devotion." 

"Hum," said Bodie: he was trying to remember if he had a diamond stick pin and decided he hadn't. "I think the six guineas are your most tangible asset. But this sudden declaration of affection has caught me by surprise after your remarks this morning, and I have to consider if it could be due to your room, which is still on the chilly side. I notice you seem to loath to leave. So I must ask myself whether it is my body or my warm bed you find the more attractive." 

Doyle drew himself up. "I shall leave now," he said. 

He got no further than the long mirror, in which he viewed himself critically: he seemed to be determining his 'best side', no doubt for future effect. Bodie, who enjoyed Doyle's performances, watched him with amusement. 

"Good night, then," said Doyle. "I'm off to my cold, damp room... alone." A loud sniff followed. 

"Like some mulled wine?" asked Bodie. He was joined immediately at the fire as he prepared the drink. Doyle sipped the hot spicy wine awhile, then got up and walked behind Bodie, who felt a warm arm sliding insidiously round his neck. 

"Wouldn't send me back to that cold, damp room, would you?" said a soft voice. 

"Yes, I would," said Bodie. "It will toughen you up." A warm cheek rubbed against his; it felt rather nice. "You'll get soft," Bodie went on, "always sitting by the fire... And stop licking my ear." Doyle ignored him and kept right on. Bodie, squirming round, found himself eyeball to eyeball; Doyle gave him a friendly grin. 

"Last time you looked at me like that," said Bodie, "I lost my pocket book." 

"You have a terrible memory, Bodie. I hoped you'd forgiven me that little lapse. You could do a lot worse than me, you know." 

Bodie thought about it. "True. You make me laugh, more than Julia ever did, but I still think it's my bed you're after. But I could do with a bedwarmer, so I accept." 

You'll regret that, sod, thought Doyle, smiling brightly as he began to strip. 

Bodie stood watching him a moment, then went through to his dressing room. Doyle settled quickly into the bed, carefully removing the heated brick to the lower reaches. 

"Hurry up," he yelled. "It's cold. Thought you soldier boys were dead keen on - " 

Bodie came back in wearing a heavy robe and blew the last candle out. "I knew it," he said as he settled in, "it's the warm bed you're really after." 

"Oh, shut up," said Doyle. "Not your first, am I?" 

"No," said Bodie, "but it's been a long time." 

Doyle thought a moment, then cuddled up to him. "No rush, Bodie. I could always go down to the library and get the 'Mysteries of Udolpho', I never did finish it. You could read it to me. Hey, stop laughing, you're shaking the bed." 

Bodie, still chuckling, sat up and removed his robe, then pulled Doyle into his arms. "Tell you what, I'll do that in the morning." 

oOo 

The next morning found Doyle crouched on the hearth in an old army coat of Bodie's, blowing on the coals to enliven the sulky fire. Once it seemed brighter he put some twigs on, then sat back warming his feet and wiping a hand across his smutty face. From the bed behind him came contented snores. 

Doyle grinned and stretched happily. He'd acquired a few bruises but he'd found Bodie a satisfactory lover - once warmed up. Got a bit over-enthusiastic, Major, didn't you? Still, improve that with practice. Now satisfied with fire, he began to warm some beer for their breakfast. There was a stirring from the bed. 

"Doyle? What are you doing now?" asked a sleepy voice. 

"Heating up beer for breakfast. Want some?" 

"Yes." Bodie stretched and yawned. Doyle carefully filled two mugs, then clambered back into bed, planting his chilled feet on the nearest warm object. It objected. He ignored the protest and continued cuddling nearer to the warmth. 

"Comfortable, are you?" asked Bodie testily. 

"Would be if you'd move up a bit more." 

"You warm that bit for yourself," said Bodie firmly. 

"You were good, you know," said Doyle. 

"Well, in view of your wider experience, I'll take that as a compliment," said Bodie. 

"You could say I'm a delight to the eye this morning, or something like that," said Doyle, hurt. 

Bodie looked at him critically. "You are indeed. Your face is filthy and you need a shave, just like when I met you. Still, I always think of you that way," he said more cheerfully, drinking his breakfast with enthusiasm. "We could put off going up to London till next month," he went on. "Make sure you're word perfect. It's only ten days more." He knew he was just making excuses for them to have longer together. Doyle nodded. 

"Come on then, young Doyle, work to do." He slapped the nearest part, hard. 

"Stop that!" yelled Doyle. "Don't know your own strength, great lout." 

oOo 

In the days that followed they both became aware that what had started with a great deal of self-interest on both sides was growing into something more. Doyle's wariness was disappearing. He teased Bodie in return, began to laugh with him and almost stopped trying to impress him with fantastic stories of his past. There was no need. Bodie liked him. He was showing Doyle more affection and love than Doyle had received since he was a child. He was now lavish with his praise at Doyle's achievements and seemed to take a personal pride in him. Doyle blossomed under his approval. 

Perhaps it would be all right: they would stay together after this was over, Bodie would want him to stay. Doyle sat dreaming happily in the warm spring sunshine. 

And Bodie was changing too: the hard arrogant pose he normally dropped only for Celia had gone; he was leaving the secure shelter he'd made for himself, basking in Doyle's affection. That had been lacking in his childhood, apart from Jemima and her mother, his father remarking: "Of all the whelps who died, why did this scowling black-faced brat live. But, still, I have a fine lad in Octavius." So Bodie had fixed his affections on his beautiful mother, who had found her awkward, emotional second son a trial. 

"William is so clumsy and bad-tempered," she complained. "Look at his great hands, just like a ploughboy and manners to match. Now Octavius, I can take him anywhere." He didn't care, Bodie had told himself savagely. Who'd want to be like Occy with his pretty face and graceful manners. He hated him. Octavius had made friendly overtures to his younger brother and been strongly rebuffed. 

Bodie, now sitting by Doyle in the sunlight, thought back to those days, seeing it as perhaps it really had been and not through the eyes of a desperately unhappy little boy. Poor Occy, he really did try with me, he started to teach me to ride. I liked that, began to feel he wasn't so bad. Then father: "Leave that brat to the groom, Octavius; you can come into town with me." And they'd gone, leaving him raging against Occy who had abandoned him. After that he'd watched his handsome older brother turn into a drunken wastrel but one who was still kind to him when their paths crossed; he'd even shielded him from his father on occasions. Looking back, he had been 'difficult'. "William always says 'No'," the family used to say. Then his uncle had obtained him his army position and he'd thankfully left home. Years later when he'd been summoned home, it was all over: Octavius was dead. He'd never made his peace with him. He'd sought out a broken-hearted Lizzie and arranged support for her and the child, till she had married a good man, who loved little Perditha as his own. 

At least I did that for you, he thought. You'd have been pleased with her, she's a pretty, bright child. Must see about a good school when I have some money. He realised Doyle was staring at him. 

"You all right, Bodie?" 

He smiled at him. "Yes, just thinking back." 

"Wish we didn't have to go to London," said Doyle, idly chewing a grass stalk as they sprawled on the meadow together. "I like it here. Bodie, let's pack it in." 

Bodie opened an eye; he'd been starting to doze off. "Have you gone mad? Unless we can convince them you're my little cousin, we won't have any 'here' at all. Not getting cold feet, are you?" 

"No, I just wish things could go on like this," said Doyle regretfully. 

"You're easily pleased, then," said Bodie tartly. "Just think of all that money and your Irish estate. Better get back to the house, have to pack for London tomorrow." 

"Yes... Bodie, I found this white shirt in your room, can I take it with me? I look very well in it." 

"Forget to lock the press, did I?" said Bodie. "All right." Twist me round your little finger, he thought wryly. 

"No, you didn't," said Doyle. "Have to keep in practice. Thanks, Bodie." 

Bodie shook his head. "We'd better run through the story again, too, and it's no good pulling a face, Mr. Coke is very sharp." 

"I wish you'd let me make it up," said Doyle. 

"I daren't. You have this terrible urge to overdo the pathos," said Bodie firmly. "Tell you what, if you work well, I'll teach you another tune on Celia's piano." 

Doyle grinned. "Done." 

 

"Right," said Bodie, as they settled in the library after dinner. "Now, let's have your address in Paris. I know my aunt lived there a time and it's as near as I can remember. Off you go and don't overdo it." 

Doyle gave him a 'teach your grandmother' look; he was going splendidly till he stuck over the address. 

"For heaven's sake, Jem, you must have been told it when you were small in case you got lost. I remember Jemima teaching me mine." 

Doyle brightened. "Hadn't thought of it that way." He thought a moment, then parroted off his name and address perfectly, except the address was different. 

Bodie stared at him. "Where did you get that one from?" 

Doyle shrugged. "One of Celia's books, I think. Feels better than the other." 

"We'll leave it then. Right area, I think, and if you're happier with it..." 

"Your French is awful," said Doyle. "You don't sound a bit like Yvonne in the Dials..." 

"Good enough to interrogate French prisoners, I assure you," said Bodie. "Stop now, have a drink, and see if you remember the tune I taught you." 

"Did Celia play a lot?" asked Doyle as he settled at the small piano. 

"Yes, quite well too, before her accident. She started showing me but I was never much good, my hands are too big. You remembered that piece well, I'll have to find something else for you. It's a pity Celia isn't here, she could teach you much better." 

"My mother had one," said Doyle. "Bigger than this of course..." 

"Of course," said Bodie. 

"I'd listen to her playing while I was in bed. My father sang, sometimes." He thought a moment. "You know this, Bodie?" He whistled a tune. 

"I think so," said Bodie, picking out the tune. Doyle listened a moment, then sang the verse, ending, "'Chieftains are scattered far'." He stopped. 

"'Truth is a fixed star...'" supplied Bodie. 

"'Aileen Aroon....'" finished Doyle. They laughed a moment. 

"Neither of us going to do well at that," said Bodie. "It was a favourite of my grandmother's, mad Irish woman." 

"My mother used to sing it to her little brother," said Doyle. "He was a Jemmy, too..." 

"Thought that was just a nickname," said Bodie. "Never asked you your real name, did I?" 

"No, I've always been Jemmy. In the cant, it's a smart lad. Isaac said it fitted me." 

"Does indeed," said Bodie. "Come on, we've got an early start tomorrow." He hesitated. "Go ahead, Jem, I won't be a moment." He went to the bookcase and hauled down the family Bible. "Mother's family," he muttered. "Grandfather Talbot.... Let's see: Elizabeth, Augusta, James, born 1761... died 1769... Jemmy?" He started to chuckle. "The little tyke, he's been looking at this, then decided to try the story out on me. Not bad, Jemmy, you almost had me going. Better get to bed, early start for London in the morning." 

oOo

Doyle tossed and turned on the hard, lumpy bed. The journey to London was not proving an easy one. A slight accident to the coach had them staying over at a local inn, it was neither clean nor comfortable, and the evening meal had been disgusting. He gave up on sleeping and arose to make up the fire; it was cold enough without that going out. Bodie had left the room. 

Gone for a drink? thought Doyle. He tossed another log on the fire and went to the window. Bodie was standing in the yard, fully dressed. A small carriage had drawn up by him, and a man was stepping down. 

"Glad you received my message, William," the voice carried clearly in the still, cold air. It was Joseph Stanley. 

Doyle drew back into the room. What was Bodie meeting Joseph for? He began to dress, pulling on his shirt and breeches, then slipped out onto the landing overlooking the inn parlour. They had entered and were moving to one of the booths. Joseph called for hot wine. 

As they settled, Doyle slipped carefully down the stairs into a nearby booth, his natural wariness aroused. Could Bodie be selling him out? All he really wanted was Chaldon. If Joseph offered him that, well, Cousin Raymond would be surplus to requirements, and he had no illusions that Joseph would leave him free to be a potential problem to him. He'd watched Joseph all through their dinner party; his cold smile had chilled his blood. He could only hear fragments of conversation, they seemed to be arguing. Then Joseph rose to his feet. He asked Bodie a question; he nodded upstairs. 

"Well, William, I must leave now but think about what I said." 

"And if he really is our cousin?" That was Bodie. 

"Oh William, you can't believe his story? I've made extensive inquiries, there's no doubt the poor child is dead. I'd have no trouble discrediting this impostor but I'd like to avoid any family scandal, but if necessary I would - " He shrugged. 

"Would what?" asked Bodie. 

"William, if you wish to change your mind you can reach me at the Grecian Coffee House, Devereaux Court. Now, if you would walk me to my coach, I'd like to discuss another matter with you." They left together. 

Doyle his stomach churning in fright, fled back upstairs. He was sure Bodie would throw in his lot with Joseph. Why shouldn't he? He'd get Chaldon, probably money too. What did the matter of his 'arrangement' with a thief count with that? 

Out in the courtyard Bodie threw off the arm Joseph had slid round his shoulders. Something was wrong. 

"I haven't finished, William," Joseph began. Bodie turned and ran back to the inn, suddenly afraid for Doyle. 

As Doyle entered his bedroom he sensed someone else there. An arm reached round his throat. He drew his knife and stabbed, wriggling like an eel; there was a gasp. He yelled "Bodie!" at the top of his lungs and lashed out again as someone else moved in. A blow sent him to the floor; he rolled under the bed as the door crashed open. There was an explosion. Pistol shot, he thought vaguely and a crash of breaking glass, someone running, Bodie calling his name. Wondering if he was making the last mistake of his life, Doyle rolled out. His shirt felt very wet. 

Bodie, holding the lantern high, was looking down at him. "My God." He knelt down as Doyle tried to get to his feet. "Keep still, Ray, your arm's pouring blood. Just let me get a cloth round it." 

Doyle looked down vaguely. "Didn't even feel the knife going in. Head's bleeding too." 

"Just a slight cut," said Bodie. "This is a bad stab wound. Here, hold that tight." 

Doyle looked at him, tears suddenly trickling down his face. "You didn't sell me out to Joseph, then?" 

"Bloody fool," said Bodie. "Why would I do that? Too much invested in you, haven't I?" 

The landlord had appeared. "Never had anything happen like this before, what a blessing you were able to - " 

"Yes," said Bodie. "You'd better explain to the constable about the body in the yard. We are leaving for London on the next coach." 

After the man had left, he added: "Jem, I think we'd better get up to London as soon as we can. I've seen the second man, the one who got away with Joseph. Think you can make the trip? You'll be safer at Mr. Coke's than here, at least." 

Doyle nodded weakly. While he wasn't anxious, for private reasons, to meet Mr. Coke, at least his house wouldn't be crawling with would-be assassins. 

oOo 

4, Goodwins Court, off St. Martin's Lane, London 

Mr. Coke hurried to answer as the loud knocking continued. "William," he gasped as Bodie entered, half-carrying a limp Doyle, his bags under the other arm. 

"We need a doctor," Bodie said. "A good one, mind." 

"I'll fetch Dr. Stuart," said Mr. Coke, "you'll have woken him, anyway. Put Mr. - er - on the couch in the drawing room." 

Bodie settled Doyle onto the couch. He was very pale and looked about him in a dazed manner. Then a short, wiry man erupted into the room. 

"Damned footpads," he roared, "waking decent people at this hour. Oh, it's you, Major Bodie, I might have known it." 

"Good God, it's Stuart," said Bodie. "I thought they'd shot you at Albuerfa, damned quack." 

"Saved your leg, didn't I? Anyone else would have had it off. Bother you at all?" 

"Only when it rains, then it's a bitch," said Bodie grinning. 

"Good, good. What have we here? Hot water, clean clothes and a large brandy." These were procured by Mildred, Mr. Coke's housekeeper, also roused by the noise. Stuart began to bathe the wounds, then bind them tightly. 

Mr. Coke drew Bodie aside. "William, what has been happening, and who is that?" 

"Tell you later. One of Joseph's men tried to kill him tonight. Thought it better to get here to you as soon as we could." 

"What is the world coming to?" sighed Mr. Coke. 

Dr. Stuart looked up. "I've stitched his arm, it should heal cleanly, but he's lost a lot of blood. He needs rest and nourishing food. Strong lad, shouldn't take any harm. Now, where's that brandy? Ah, good." He took a long drink. "Should have one yourself, Major, look as though you need it. I'll look in again tomorrow. Staying with you, are they, Andrew?" 

"Yes," said Mr. Coke. "I'll just see you out." He left the room. 

When he returned to the drawing room, Doyle was looking round. Mr. Coke stopped short, seeing him properly for the first time; he almost dropped the bottle he was carrying. "Great heavens," he said. 

Bodie, while agreeing Doyle looked excessively pale and fragile, was startled at his reaction. Mr. Coke gripped his arm and pointed to the portrait hanging over the couch. Bodie looked at it. A demure young lady gazed back at him. Even by Bodie's exacting standards she was very pretty with her large green eyes and auburn hair; from the set of her mouth you guessed the demure expression wasn't to be taken too seriously. Doyle looked from one to the other then rose to look at the painting. Bodie, recognising the subject, and trusting Doyle would too,  
took a gamble. 

"Who is it, Ray?" he asked quietly. 

"Maman," said Doyle. He looked round bewildered. "Is she - ?" He went even paler and then fainted neatly into Bodie's arms. 

Well done, Ray, he thought approvingly. "Must be the shock," he said briskly to Mr. Coke. "I had to rush him a bit to get him here, just in case any more of Joseph's hired killers were around. I didn't think Joseph needed the estate that much." 

"There is a lot you don't know about Joseph Stanley," said Mr. Coke. "You'd better bring that young man upstairs, he'll be more comfortable in the front bedroom. Then you can tell me the whole story - in the morning - there's little enough left of the night!" 

They settled Doyle on the bed. He came round, gazed at them sleepily, then went right back to sleep. 

Bodie settled uncomfortably for the next few hours on the couch in the drawing room. 

When Mr. Coke arose, he found him drinking tea and looking at the portrait. "I've looked in on your young friend, William, he's still sleeping. More colour this morning. Mildred will have some broth ready for when he wakes." 

"Didn't know you had this painting, sir. It's the best I've seen of Aunt Elizabeth." 

"I bought it when Joseph was selling off some paintings from the house. I was always very fond of Lady Elizabeth." 

"I don't blame you, sir, she's a beauty." Good thing Ray had the sense to recognise her. If he hadn't, could always have fainted with the shock anyway, he thought. 

Bodie went to annoy Mildred and to have some breakfast. When he went up to see Doyle, he found him sitting up in bed wrapped in a shawl, and to Bodie's cynical eye, milking his present weakness for all it was worth as he sipped a bowl of broth. 

Bodie settled on the bed by him. "Now," he said, "pay attention. Mr. Coke is bound to be up soon, asking you questions. Do not invent anything new without checking with me first. You did well with the portrait. I know, Mr. Coke was impressed." 

"'Course I did," said Doyle. "It was my mother." 

Too cocksure by half, thought Bodie. "You don't have to convince me, Ray," he sighed, "just Mr. Coke." 

Mr. Coke entered. "So you are the young man William wrote me about. Mr. -?" 

"He has been known as Doyle for some years," said Bodie. "We met by chance in Vauxhall Gardens where he did me a small service. We talked, and he mentioned he had been trying to trace his mother's family. After he had told me certain things I began to wonder if he might not be my cousin, Raymond. As you see, he suffers from frail health, and I invited him to stay with Celia and me at Chaldon so we could get to know one another better, and for me to ascertain if it was not, in fact, just a chance likeness. But I am now convinced that he is my cousin. He tells me..." 

Bodie embarked on Doyle's happy childhood in Paris. That was no problem. When they came to the next part, Bodie faltered slightly under Mr. Coke's gimlet eye. Doyle, listening, decided he'd better tell the story. As a romancer, Bodie hadn't a clue. 

"William," he said hesitantly, "please don't lie for my sake, I'd rather Mr. Coke knew the truth about my early life in London. There is so much of which I am ashamed to conceal it is unfair to Mr. Coke and I would not have you perjure yourself." He gave Bodie a blinding smile and turned to Mr. Coke. 

Bodie gritted his teeth as Doyle settled back on his pillow and, after a reviving sip of brandy, began to tell his sad story. It was very affecting, even Bodie had an urge to reach for his handkerchief. Parts of it were even true. 

Mr. Coke listened with rapt attention and great appreciation of the way Doyle adroitly skated over any thin spots in his narrative, making careful note of any facts that might be verifiable. He had now remembered where he had seen Doyle before and knew the recognition had been mutual. 

"Thank you, Raymond," he said as Doyle lay back exhausted on his pillow. 

Bodie passed him the brandy glass again and they exchanged a long look. 

"I am glad you saw fit to confide in me," Mr. Coke went on. "You see, William, your... cousin and I met some years ago." 

"What?" said Bodie, looking up. 

Mr. Coke noticed, with interest, Doyle had clutched the coverlet in agitation. "A small matter, William. I was engaged to defend the son of a respectable family, who had been arrested for highway robbery. A young groom, though not charged himself, had become involved in the affair. Some ten years ago, it was. I was unable to help the man, he was afterwards hanged. The groom was released from custody. I hadn't seen him again till last night. Now we will need proofs of Raymond's story. Unfortunately the situation in France makes inquiries there impossible at the moment. Joseph will cry fraud if more evidence cannot be found. I want you both to be on your guard." 

"I can't understand Joseph," muttered Bodie. "He's extremely rich already. My estate isn't large or wealthy, and the Talbot estate - yes, I suppose that adds up to quite a bit." 

"Perhaps," said Mr. Coke. "William, make inquiries among anyone who could have known Raymond's father. I know he served in the French army at one time, as several other Irish officers did. It's just possible they could have some information." 

"You believe that rascal's commission genuine then?" asked Bodie, surprised. 

"My father's commission was as genuine as yours, Major," snapped Doyle, "and he didn't earn his rank in the brothels and taverns as you did." 

Bodie sat up, his mouth open. "You little - " he began. 

"Quiet!" said Mr. Coke. "William, as ever try and watch that mouth of yours. Raymond, I know that remark of William's could be taken as offensive but unfortunately it is his normal way of speech and you had no need to insult him like that." 

Doyle nodded. "Sorry, Bodie, I'm not feeling myself today. Could I rest a little?" He lay back, looking desperately fragile. 

Bodie gulped, feeling as though he'd kicked a kitten. "Mr. Coke," he began, "surely Lady Elizabeth wrote home giving more information? I have some letters she wrote Mother, but they don't tell us that much, mostly about how clever her little br... son was, that sort of thing. She must have written her father." 

"Oh indeed," said Mr. Coke. "I'm informed she wrote constantly to her father or Lady Augusta. Unfortunately the letters seem to have disappeared." 

"Odd that," said Bodie. "Into the nearest grate, I'd say." 

"Probably, or," and here Mr. Coke stared hard at Bodie, "to be used by Joseph if any dubious claimants appeared, perhaps?" 

"Ah," said Bodie. "I'll be off to the Army Club, then to make some inquiries. I'll leave Ray in your care, then, sir." 

"Yes, we'll have a short talk later on and, William, Miss Celia sent a message round asking if you would call at Hanover Square. Lady Hesketh wishes to discuss a matter with you and Celia would be happy to see you too." 

"Damn," said Bodie. "Better do that first. I must call and see that Celia has everything she needs. Wanted to avoid that terrible crowd of blue stockings Fanny always has infesting the place - and husband-hunting Mamas." 

He left, after telling Ray to take things easy and not to talk too much. 

After he had gone Mr. Coke settled himself at the bedside. "Raymond," he said, "you can abandon your fragile pose. I am quite aware you have not told me the whole truth of your past life, so a little more veracity this time. I should warn you, I've had considerable dealings with ruffians like you, and know much more of the world than William!" 

Doyle swallowed hard. "I know. Thank you for not telling Bodie about Jack, he wouldn't have understood. Bodie's as straight as a die. I'll tell you the whole truth." He composed himself calmly and began. 

Later, Mr. Coke, smiling, looked at the portrait. "You should have heard him, Bess, lying in his teeth to protect William. If he isn't your son, he ought to be. Well, I'm just having to go and find the truth of it and protect those two idiots from the consequences of their folly." 

oOo 

Thanks to Cousin Fanny's insistence that he attend one of her 'at homes', Bodie was very late arriving at the officers club, and found the man he was seeking had already left but would be there the next afternoon, so he made his way back to Mr. Coke's in some ill-humour. Still, he had reassured himself that Celia was enjoying her taste of London life and being well looked after. Jemima informed him that for her part, she couldn't stand the place and would be glad to go back to Chaldon where folks kept decent hours! 

Cousin Fanny had also informed him that he was invited to her next soirée when several mothers with marriageable daughters would be present. Hastily murmuring he had many engagements, he left. When he arrived back at Mr. Coke's, he found Doyle sitting up in bed consuming a large meal under the frosty gaze of Mildred, who, he noticed gleefully, seemed immune to Doyle's lethal charm. 

"I've put the truckle up in here for you, William," she remarked. "You're ruining that couch in the drawing room, sleeping on it." 

Bodie looked at the inadequate object with annoyance; Doyle winked at him. 

Then Mr. Coke arrived. "Ah, coming on well is he, Mildred?" 

"Yes, sir, has his appetite back." She returned to her kitchen. 

"Well, William, any success?" 

"No, I was forced to spend most of the afternoon at Fanny's, listening to that band of hags she has visiting. Captain Frobisher will be at the club tomorrow, I'll see him then." 

"Good. Raymond has been more enlightening and I am making some inquiries of my own." 

Bodie gave his confederate a suspicious look and prayed Raymond hadn't been spinning any of his wilder tales. The look of pained innocence he received in return didn't allay his misgivings. 

"Dinner will be ready shortly, William," said Mr. Coke. "Mildred will call you. I must get back to my papers." He left them alone. 

"You haven't been telling any stories?" asked Bodie. 

"No, he just wanted some gaps filled in. I think he's a bit suspicious, Bodie." 

"Who would be, of us?" said Bodie. "As long as you were careful... And about that crack you made - " 

"Sorry about that," said Doyle hurriedly, "but if I was your little cousin Raymond I wouldn't have let your remark about my father pass, would I? Anyway, it wasn't true. He was a good soldier and a gentleman. Mama was never the same after he died. I didn't know it was a duel. Do you know what it was over?" 

"No," said Bodie. "Affair of honour, that's all we heard. Yes, you were right to pull me up. But it gave me a surprise, like being savaged by a sparrow!" Poor little tyke's starting to believe he is my cousin, he thought with amusement. "How's the arm?" 

"Not bad. Listen, you can get in here. That truckle looks much too small with you being on the fat side." 

Bodie glared at him. "I am not on the fat side! Solid, that's what I am, and you're right, have to be careful round Mr. Coke. Don't want him to catch me cuddling my cousin." 

"Not against the law to cuddle your cousin," said Doyle. "But I see what you mean, he might wonder what's going on. There's the gong for dinner. Not as good as Jemima's, the cooking here. I don't think she likes me much." 

"What a surprise," said Bodie. "New experience that, for you, isn't it? Never mind, if the old battleaxe hasn't locked up the brandy, I'll bring us a toddy up tonight." 

Later, when Mr. Coke and Mildred had retired, Bodie slipped downstairs and came back with their drinks. "Now move up," he ordered, "or I'll drink them both myself." 

"You would too, wouldn't you. Mind my arm!" yelled Doyle, making as little room as possible. 

"Shut up, you'll wake him! That's better. Here..." They sipped their drinks happily. 

"Tell me about cousin Fanny," said Doyle. "I've never been in any of those big houses. Knew someone who burgled one in Hanover Square once; the householder shot him." 

"Probably Fanny," said Bodie. "She's a great friend of Lord Arthur - looks like him too. He used to say he could do with her on his staff. I'll take you sometime, you'll be a sensation at one of her 'at homes'. You sure you're all right? You're not as chatty as usual." 

"Bit tired, that's all. Pity." Doyle yawned. "Wanted to tell you something." 

"Tell me in the morning," said Bodie, slipping an arm round him. "Night, Ray..." 

Doyle lay awake a little longer. Should tell him about Jack before someone else does. Daft sod's beginning to see me as an innocent waif on the streets. Don't want him to find out the truth the hard way. Too romantic, that's your trouble, William, he thought, cuddling up happily to the solid warmth. 

 

Next morning, Bodie, rising early, found a message had been delivered for him. 

"Rough-looking servant brought it," said Mildred, with a sniff. 

'Major Bodie, If you could meet me at the Grecian Coffee House, Devereux Place, about four, I have some information that may interest you. J/S.' 

Bodie shrugged. What was the bastard up to now? I'll go and see him after the club. 

When he left later in the day he heard Doyle telling an amused Mr. Coke how he had saved the Prince Regent from a gang of footpads, Mr. Coke pointing out the errors in his narrative. Bodie shook his head. Some would ask: Why save him? he thought. Then he remembered Doyle's story of his Uncle Fitz. Could make inquiries about that and if I find it's one of his yarns, well... William, you're getting soft, starting to believe him, 'course it isn't true. Sounds good though. 

When he arrived at the club he found it overflowing with officers home on leave. He exchanged greetings with several, envying them, when one man grabbed his arm. 

"Bodie. That's General Fitzgerald over there. He'll know your Irish officer if any one does, he's served all over the place and was in France back in the old days. He's a prickly old fellow, so step carefully." 

Bodie went over to the old soldier and saluted respectfully. 

"Major Bodie, sir. Would you do me the honour of some private conversation?" 

The general raised an eyebrow. "Regiment, sir?" he barked. 

"Royal Horse Artillery, sir," said Bodie. 

"Hump... Well, I'm going for my dinner, you'll have to join me if you want to talk." 

"Thank you," said Bodie. 

After several post-dinner brandies the general looked at him. "Well then, man, what is it? Out with it!" 

Bodie cleared his throat. "I'm trying to obtain information on a Captain James McDonnell. He eloped with my aunt, Lady Elizabeth Talbot. We know they are both dead, it's their child I'm inquiring for, a matter of a family inheritance." 

He stopped, wondering if he could have put it better. To his surprise, the general was smiling at him. 

"You must be Emily's son," he said finally. "I knew one of them went into the army. Couldn't be Augusta's boy, he's a damned lawyer." 

Bodie stared. "Yes, I am, but how did you know?" 

"I knew your aunt well," said the general. "Wonderful woman, I would have married her myself if James hadn't beaten me to it. Captain James Doyle, by the way - he used the name McDonnell for a while: a spot of trouble in Ireland, you understand." 

"Er, yes," said Bodie. "Doyle." He refilled his glass and drained it. "You knew them both then, in France?" 

"I'd known James since he was oh, nine or ten. He is - was - my half-brother. My mother, God rest her, always had a soft spot for my father's by-blow, so when James' mother died he brought him home to live with the family. Bright lad, but wild and impulsive. Good hearted. Elizabeth was the making of him. Then he had to go and fight that duel. He had no sense that way at all." 

"And their child?" asked Bodie. 

"Young Jemmy." 

Bodie almost choked on his brandy. "Jemmy? But we heard she called him Raymond, after her father." 

"So she did, Raymond James Doyle, but as she said, you couldn't call a scrap like him Raymond. We always called him Jemmy. But I don't understand, I was told he was back with the family?" The old man looked bewildered. 

"It's a long story," said Bodie. "If you would bear with me. What happened after your brother was killed?" 

"I was away with my regiment. Elizabeth wrote me, she had decided to return to England with her son, the situation in France was changing and with James dead she wanted Jemmy to have the protection of her family. Her father's lawyer had written her saying her father refused to see her, but she was sure, her sister Emily could offer her a temporary home." 

"Yes," said Bodie, "my mother always spoke of her with affection. But she was ill at that time." 

"I wrote immediately," the general went on, "told her to go to Ireland if she found herself homeless, my family would have sheltered her till I could provide for her and Jemmy. The next I heard she had died suddenly. Friends paid for the funeral (she was buried near James) and also the fare for her maid Nellie to take Jemmy to his family in England. I inquired, of course, of the Talbot family, asking if he had arrived safely, and stating I was willing to take over responsibility for looking after him if they did not wish to do so. Had a damned  
insulting letter from some little jumped-up rogue of a lawyer named George Stanley, saying Jem was home safely and would be looked after by the family and they wished no connection between him and any relation of his father's. Damned impudence! Still, I thought it would be better for Jemmy's sake not to intrude. Inquired later when I thought it best, they told me he'd done well at school, gone abroad and that they'd tell him I had been in touch. It was up to him if he answered. He didn't, of course. I was sorry about that." 

Bodie swore long and comprehensively. "Bloody scoundrel," he said finally. "I'm sorry, sir, you'll understand when you hear the full story. One thing more, did you ever give Jemmy a hobby horse?" 

The general laughed. "I did indeed. On his last birthday, we were all together. He's my godson too, by the way. But what happened to him? He didn't get home?" 

"No," said Bodie, "not then, he has now. He will be very happy to see you again. If you would call on Mr. Andrew Coke at 4 Goodwins Court, you will do Jemmy a great service. Mr. Coke will explain." 

"I'll go and see him," said the general. "I'm here till the autumn. Very glad I met you, Major!" 

"So am I," said Bodie, smiling, "but I have to leave now, I have an appointment." 

Bodie left whistling cheerfully as he made his way to the Grecian Coffee House. There was nothing that bastard Joseph could do now. His cheerful mood began to falter as he considered the full implications of his new knowledge. His false claimant was, in fact, the real claimant. He'd have to tell Mr. Coke the whole truth now, a job he didn't relish, but that didn't matter, after all. His Jem, the dirty little thief he'd bullied, teased and ordered about was going to be Raymond Doyle Esq. , a very rich young man. He stopped. Well, well, hoist with your own petard, Major, and you'll still be Major William Bodie, ex-RHA, with not even Chaldon to your name, and up to your ears in debt. But I'd rather Ray had the place than Joseph. He'll keep Jemima and Mat on. I'll have to ask for an allowance for Celia. Though I may not have to ask, he likes Celia. Well, I'd better find myself an heiress, or some form of employment. He grinned. Mr. Willougby will probably offer him Julia, she'll scare him half to death! Better get along and see what Joseph is up to, he's going to come a cropper this time, and me with him. Still, it was good while it lasted.... 

He found Joseph at the coffee house. He looked up as Bodie entered and waved him to a chair. "Ah, William. I'm glad you thought it worth your while. I think you will find my information interesting." 

"Go ahead," said Bodie. "I trust it's safe for me to sit with my back to the door as you seem to have taken to hiring murderers. Replaced the man I killed?" 

Joseph smiled mirthlessly. "What a vivid imagination you have, William, but rest assured, your death would be no advantage to me. My information concerns a Master Jemmy Doyle, a well-known figure in Seven Dials, whom you seem to be encouraging to claim an inheritance by fraud. Not at all wise, William, when you know he is not who he claims to be." 

"Let us suppose," said Bodie, "we could prove he is Cousin Raymond, with impeccable witnesses, too." 

"Nonsense. I can produce the records of a foundling home here in London, where the unfortunate child died," said Joseph. "A very sad tale, William, that poor girl bravely bringing the child to England for the protection of his well-to-do relatives but he fell ill and, before she could contact the family, died. My father heard too late and tried to contact her, wishing his pathetic remains to lie in the family vault but he was too late. He had already been consigned to a pauper's grave." 

"Very affecting," said Bodie. "But it doesn't sound a bit like your father. Kept very quiet about it, didn't he?" 

"He informed my mother, naturally," said Joseph, "but we felt it right for the sake of the family, and not to cause distress to your grandfather, not to make the matter public." 

"No," said Bodie, "I don't believe you. I shall advise my cousin to continue with his claim. Now, if you've nothing more to say..." He rose to leave. 

"Sit down, William," said Joseph sharply. "I was hoping to spare your feelings as my agent Mr. Clifford has informed me you have developed an... affection, shall we say, for the fellow, a very good-looking rogue, I agree. I expect that's what attracted your Mr. Coke to him some years ago over the matter of Captain Dashwood, as he called himself. Jack Dashwood, good family, but he went wrong, steeped in vice, ended on the toby, a common highway robber. He had a groom riding with him then, who worked at 'the Spaniards'. Spied for him, there's no doubt. The captain had certain tastes - and indulged himself fully with his groom, as did many others. You look shocked, William, you shouldn't be. These children of the gutter, they have a hard life, it's just one more thing to sell. You mustn't judge Master Jemmy too harshly for using his personal accomplishments to help him make a living. While Captain Dashwood was hanged, your pretty boy, thanks to Mr. Coke's interference, was able to continue with his life of crime." He passed a paper over. "You see, he is suspected of numerous capital offences which, brought to the notice of the authorities - and I would consider it my duty to do this - could end in him being turned off at Newgate, which would be very embarrassing for the family. Now I'm sure you could persuade him it would be better if he forgot all about being little Cousin Raymond." 

"We could call your bluff, Joseph," said Bodie. 

"I wouldn't advise it. Wouldn't be pleasant, you know, to stand and watch your lover strangle at the end of a rope. He's very lightly built, could last all of five minutes. But I'd be loath to do that. Let's try and settle this like gentlemen. I would let you have Chaldon, which is all you really want, so dear Celia would still have a home." 

"If Doyle were my lover," said Bodie slowly, "I'd hardly trade him for Chaldon, now would I? Besides, he'd give it to me when the estate was settled." 

Joseph looked at him. "Oh no, William, you'd never accept it on those grounds, I know you too well. And you didn't know of his past when you met him. I'm sorry I had to tell you, as I'm sure your feelings for the fellow are genuine. But yet again you have been taken advantage of..." 

The rest of Joseph's homily was unfortunately lost as he landed on the floor, in consequence of being struck across the face by a wine bottle. Mr. Clifford, at a nearby table, moved in, looked across at Bodie and thought the better of it. 

Joseph picked himself off the floor and wiped the blood from his face. "You'll regret that, William. I should be very careful of letting your boy see too much of Miss Celia, there was a nasty incident between the Captain and his catamite with some young innocent ladies on a coach." 

Bodie, leaving, turned and looked at him. "You stink of the gutter, Joseph," he said, and walked out. 

Joseph turned to Mr. Clifford. "I think we have shaken William, but he is a stubborn man and could be a problem. Find me two men who know their business." 

 

Bodie started back to Mr. Coke's. As he walked, he began to think over Joseph's words: he didn't believe Ray had just used him. And if he had, was it any more than you had been doing to him? But that was different, I cared about him. Not at first, you didn't, just going to be useful, you said. Oh hell, Celia said Ray could cry at will, and so - counterfeit love too? I was going to ask him to stay at Chaldon afterwards and run the estate for me while I went off to the wars. It could have been... Look, stupid, he's your Cousin Raymond, heir to grandfather's estate, what the hell does he need with you now? But I can't let Joseph inform on him. 

Bodie realised he'd stopped outside a tavern and went inside. Several brandies later his thoughts were still confused but he had become increasingly resentful that it was Doyle's past life that was going to deprive them of the estate and Chaldon and probably land them both in some danger, Joseph wasn't likely to forgive being hit with a bottle. Well, he didn't regret that action in the least. He'd better be on his way, they'd be waiting to hear his news. 

When he arrived at Mr. Coke's, he was in considerable bad humour. 

"Raymond is feeling much better today," said Mr. Coke. "We have been talking about his future." 

Doyle looked most uncomfortable. Bodie guessed Mr. Coke had been expressing the need for him to consider a non-criminal way of life. 

"That hardly matters now," said Bodie bitterly. "Thanks to Jack Shepherd here, we are going to have to drop our claim. Just my luck to find a Cousin Raymond with more form than a Derby winner." He stopped and looked at Mr. Coke. 

The attorney appeared unruffled. "Drinking again, William? Kindly tell me clearly what has happened, leaving out your opinions of Raymond's early life." 

"Lost our estate though, hasn't he," said Bodie. 

"My estate," said Ray, "and you knew about my past. You didn't think I was collecting rosebuds in Vauxhall Gardens, did you?" He was looking at Bodie, bewildered. 

"I didn't know you were on the toby, spelling for a gentleman of the road and doing some whoring on the side, did I?" said Bodie, reaching for a bottle. 

"Hard luck!" said Doyle. "So find yourself another Cousin Raymond, then go and fuck yourself!" 

"That will be quite enough," said Mr. Coke. "I knew you two were up to something. Now I want the whole truth, William. What have you learned and from whom?" 

"Joseph," said Bodie, refilling his glass, "told me he had information that Ray died in a foundling home. I told him to forget it. Then he told me about Captain Dashwood and Ray. That was the man you mentioned?" He looked at Mr. Coke. 

"Yes, that was Jack Dashwood, and Ray was never charged with any offence. And put that bottle down." 

"Well, he's made up for it since," said Bodie. "He lifted my pocket book and watch in Vauxhall Gardens, that's how I met him. I saw the resemblance and thought it was worth a gamble." He raised his glass to Mr. Coke and drained it. "Nice try it was, too but Joseph says if we proceed he'll inform on Ray." 

"I don't mind risking the drop," said Doyle. 

"I do. Particular who I might end up sharing a scaffold with." 

Doyle opened his mouth. 

"Raymond!" said Mr. Coke. "One more word..." Doyle subsided. Mr. Coke then expressed his opinion of Bodie at some length. 

Doyle got up. "I'm not stopping here. I'm going to visit some old friends." 

"You are not. I'm not having you loose on the streets of London!" Mr Coke snapped. "Did you see anyone at the club, William?" 

Bodie chuckled. "Yes, I nearly forgot, funny that. I didn't believe Ray's story, you know..." Mr. Coke restrained a strong desire to hit him. "But I met Ray's uncle," Bodie went on, "General Dermott Fitzgerald himself. He is the godfather of Raymond James Doyle, the son of his half-brother James and Lady Elizabeth Talbot. He's coming to see you to make a statement and meet his long-lost nephew. It'll be a surprise for him. Congratulations, cousin. You'd better restrain yourself from picking his pocket." He grinned at Doyle. 

Mr. Coke just got between them in time to stop Doyle striking him and shoved Doyle back into his seat. Bodie merely appeared amused. 

"In that case," Mr. Coke said, "you have no alternative but to continue with the claim. Even if you were to drop it, Raymond's life would still be in danger. Haven't you two realised yet, Joseph must have some suspicion that Ray is indeed the real heir? He has the letters Elizabeth wrote home, he would know probably the Captain's real name, his father must have tried to find what had happened to her son, just in case, his son being the next male heir. Living in the stew of St. Giles, Raymond was no threat to him, sooner or later disease or the rope  
would have removed him. You finding Raymond must have been a considerable shock to him. I haven't told you this before, as I suspected you had not been completely honest with me, but I have heard on good authority that Joseph Stanley is in considerable financial difficulties, he needs money urgently. His wife's family have refused help; I understand she is urging a separation. Then this morning I heard he is recruiting men to remove a problem for him: you two, I suspect." 

"There's something else he knows, too," said Bodie, now past caring. "He knows about Ray and I..." 

"Fornicating," said Doyle. "Don't worry, Major, I'm not about to write my memoirs and ruin your good name." 

"Raymond," said Mr. Coke, "go into the snug and read a book, before you say something you will really regret later." Doyle left the room. 

"Now," said Mr. Coke, "I have to leave and make some inquiries of my own. Keep an eye on Raymond, will you, I suspect he is up to something, he has been very quiet today. And William, I'd appreciate it to find you sober and in a better state of mind when I return." 

After he had gone, Bodie went to the sideboard and started making even more free with his host's brandy. After several more glasses, his mood had worsened and he went into the snug. He glared at Doyle, now reading on the settle. 

"Tell me about Captain Dashwood," he said. 

Doyle glanced up from his book. "No. Go to hell, Bodie." 

Bodie snatched the book from him and threw it across the room. "I asked you a question, Doyle!" he yelled. 

"I'm not part of your fucking regiment: mind your business," yelled Doyle, getting up. 

Bodie landed him a backhander that sent him staggering across the room. "Don't you ever take that tone with me again, you dirty little whore." Bodie slammed him back onto the settle. 

Doyle stared at him. Even in his worst moods and under extreme provocation at times, Bodie had never hit him before - he didn't count their fight. 

"There's nothing to tell, Bodie. He was good to me. One of the ostlers at 'the Spaniards' was beating me up, he waded in and stopped him, then asked me to look after his horses." 

Bodie looked disbelieving. "Just looked after his horses? Didn't ride the toby with him, and share his bed too? Bright lad like you must have been a great asset to him. Enjoy it, did you?" 

Doyle stared at him. "I thought that was it. No, Major, sir, I didn't ride with him, he liked to work alone. Mind you, I'd have done it if he asked me, and yes, I shared his bed and enjoyed it. Liked to think you were the first did you, less degrading for a 'gentleman' that way, being with one of my sort. Well, sorry, no, Major, sir. I used to think you were like him but you've turned out to be a very poor imitation. All right for second-hand, of course..." 

"Yes," drawled Bodie, "you mentioned that before. I couldn't see the likeness myself in what I saw gibbeted on the Portsmouth road, last winter..." 

The moment he said it he regretted it as Doyle stared at him white-faced, then turned to leave the room. 

"Jem, I didn't mean that, it was the drink talking." He put his hand on Doyle's shoulder. "I'm truly - " Doyle whirled, his knife in his hand. Bodie slowly lowered his hand. "I'm truly sorry, Jem, I didn't mean it." 

"Forget it," said Doyle. "What does it matter? Game's over, anyway, you'd have cut me out first chance you got, as I would you. I'm going back to the Dials, I'm safer there from bastards like you. I should have stuck to my own kind." 

"Ray, your uncle, he's coming to see you." 

Doyle looked at him wearily. "There's no point, Bodie. He remembers a small boy. Better that way, than knowing his godson is everything you and Joseph say he is. Tell him it was a mistake, just a chance likeness. You'll think of something." 

He turned and left the room. Bodie listened to him climbing the stairs to his attic bedroom, then slumped onto the settle. He reached for the bottle. No, he'd done enough damage with that today. He got up and glanced at himself in the mirror. Well, Major, a new low for you this, isn't it. Bloody jealousy, that's all it was, of some poor dead wretch who was kind to him. All right, so he was something more. You've not been notable for chastity since your return from Spain and you've kept visiting Lucy since you and Ray - All right, he isn't the little lamb off the streets you thought him, he might have been buttering you up over the estate but you were doing the same to him. Meant it though, didn't you. Look what he has going for him: bright, brave when he has to be (stood up to you), a good friend. Soon talk him round; bit of kindness and I'll have him eating out of my hand again. I need him to get my estate back. I'm not breaking in another Cousin Raymond, Mr. Coke would kill me if I tried to pull that on him. Oh, admit it, you're still daft about that lad. Just give him time to calm down. He settled down to read Doyle's book. I'll take a drink up to him later. 

Meanwhile, up in his room, Doyle was testing his arm carefully. Hum, it didn't feel too bad. He already planned to take a look in Sir Joseph Stanley's office safe at the first opportunity. Mr. Coke had said there might be letters to help them. He was surprised no-one had suggested they find out for sure. The obvious answer was to go and look and remove them. Well, it was to him! 

He brushed aside Joseph's threats, after all, he'd been courting the gallows for years. Just one more risk, and if he pulled it off, maybe he could leave Seven Dials and his old life for ever. Well worth the chance he would be taking. Bodie, now, he wasn't pleased with him. Bit soft of Bodie to imagine he'd been unsullied with his background. You bartered with everything you had to survive in the stews. He'd been luckier than most, his nimble fingers had kept him from the worst of it. He shook his head. "Romantic sod, I shouldn't have let myself get fond of him. He never sees the truth of anything. I'll pay him back when I hand him Chaldon on a silver platter. Stiff-necked bastard, he'll hate that. Then he can go back to his regiment, booze and fancy trulls. I don't need him. Well, I can do without him. 

Now I need some more tools, pity I couldn't get them from my old coat. Still, I can buy some in Dudley Street, it's a good thing I brought the snuff box, I can raise money on that." He listened at the door, there was no sound so he went quietly to the window, opened it, made his way nimbly onto the roof, and set off. 

 

Mr. Coke arrived home, shaking the rain from his cloak. "It's a terrible night, William, is everything all right?" 

"No. I had a set-to with Jem, he wants to drop the claim. I said some things I regret. I was just going up to make my peace with him." 

"You stay right there. I wish you'd watch that mouth of yours, William. His uncle will be round tomorrow, I took the liberty of calling on him to obtain more information, and of necessity acquainting him with Jem's past life. Better he heard it from me, than you or Joseph Stanley." 

"Bloody hell," said Bodie. "How did he take it?" 

"A lot better than you. His main rage, as is mine, is against the people who caused that child to be left to make his own way in the world. His one desire now is to see his nephew has the chance for a decent life away from undesirable acquaintances. Amongst them he now places you, having been enlightened about your usual conduct by your fellow officers." 

Bodie winced. "I might have known it. Never thought I'd be considered unsuitable to mix with the likes of Jemmy Doyle. Ah, so the world turns." He went to the sideboard. 

"William, if you open that bottle.... I'd better get upstairs and repair the damage you've done." As Mr. Coke went upstairs he thought I can quite see why William's father felt the need to take a strap to him so often. He opened the bedroom door, the casement window was wide open and Doyle had gone. 

"William! He's loose somewhere on the streets of London. Stay here!" he commanded, grabbing Bodie as he dashed past him. "I have men on the street who will know where to find him." 

"I'll murder the little bastard," muttered Bodie. 

"Let's hope no-one else does first," said Mr. Coke, opening his front door and whistling to a small, grimy child standing nearby. He spoke to it a moment and it sped off. "There's no point in you rushing off, William, till we know where to look. The sort of place Doyle is likely to be, you wouldn't last five minutes on your own." 

Mr. Coke sat and waited while Bodie prowled up and down. There was a tap on the door; they both went to answer it. What Bodie would have described as a damned dirty ruffian stood there, and began to talk to Mr. Coke. Bodie could hardly follow his speech. 

"William!" said Mr. Coke. "Get your pistol and short sword. I'm afraid Raymond has gone to burgle the safe in Joseph Stanley's office. It's on the far side of the Dials. He pawned a silver snuff box for a set of tools and the layout of the office. Now don't ask questions! Joseph's men will be looking for him. Sam here will guide you into the Dials, he knows the way Ray is likely to take on his way out to avoid the Runners. Now, whatever you do, stay with Sam till you find Ray." 

Bodie's companion looked at him over the scarf that covered most of his face, what could be seen appeared to be badly pitted from smallpox. 

"I'm doing this for Mr. Coke," said Sam, spitting viciously. "Don't want your sort in the Dials." 

Bodie kept a strict hold on his temper. "I just want to get Jem out alive," he remarked, "otherwise I wouldn't set foot in your stinking pesthole." 

Bodie thought this with even more feeling as the noisome alleys of the Dials closed about them. 

"Jemmy should come out this way," said Sam. "If they didn't cop him cracking the crib." 

Bodie began to work that out; it almost took his mind off the stench and filth that surrounded them. They were standing in an alley, near a flare that gave off a dim light. People were continually moving up and down, stopping occasionally to stare at him, then moving on after a word from Sam. Others stopped to talk. Bodie had long given up trying to understand their speech. He began to wonder if they were in fact English at all. 

"Bit quiet tonight," said Sam. 

"Quiet!" said Bodie. "It's after three. What are all these people doing out?" 

"Working, or they haven't a bed for the night. They moving from tavern to tavern, picking up a bit here and there." A man came up to them and spoke rapidly. 

"That's it," said Sam. "He's on his way out with two of Stanley's bravos hot on his heels. Yer on your own now, Jem will see you out if you can shake them." Sam disappeared into the gloom. Bodie noticed the crowd seemed to have mostly gone too. 

There was the sound of running feet. Doyle appeared in the light from the flares, Bodie could hear him sobbing for breath as he ran. 

"Jem!" he yelled. "Over here!" 

Doyle ran towards him. "Bodie, they're right behind me, better run." 

"Get behind me. They'll be on us before we get six feet." 

Two men had appeared from the shadows and moved towards them, both carrying short swords. They stopped, then approached more slowly, eyeing Bodie with caution. 

"No quarrel with you, mister, so just be on your way like a good little soldier. Come on, Jemmy, there's a man wants a little talk with you." 

Bodie could almost hear Doyle's heart thumping away. One of the men moved closer. 

"Come now, sir, no need for..." 

"Bodie! Look out!" yelled Doyle, as the other swooped in. 

Bodie just deflected his blade in time. The other man came at him. Not much finesse, thought Bodie as he parried, but plenty of enthusiasm, they're probably ex-soldiers.

He wounded one man who fell, then scrambled off. Bodie was just congratulating himself when his foot turned on the greasy cobbles and he went down. The man moved in, then fell, gasping, Doyle's knife in his ribs. Bodie righted himself and grabbed his shaking companion. 

"Come on, damn you," he yelled. "Get us out of this stinking midden." 

They didn't stop running till Seven Dials was well behind them. They turned into the narrow opening of Goodwins Court. 

"What the hell were you doing back there?" said Bodie. "You could have got yourself killed." 

"No way," said Doyle. "Knew you'd turn up and rescue me. Have to keep me alive to get your estate back, don't you," he added cheerfully. 

"Don't count on that," said Bodie. "I may decide it isn't worth it. Anyway, I thought you had given up." 

"What, me?" said Doyle. "Never! I rather fancy being Baron Doyle of Chaldon. Sounds good, doesn't it?" 

Bodie stared at him. "You mean that big renunciation speech was all an act? You had me - Never mind, Mr. Coke is waiting to speak to you." 

Doyle became uneasy. Mr. Coke had been very specific in forbidding any attempt, on his part, of criminal activities. He didn't think he'd overlook breaking and entering. 

"Bodie," he began ingratiatingly, "I know you didn't mean anything you said." 

"Do you?" said Bodie. "If you're hoping I'm going to save you from Mr. Coke, forget it. Anyway, he's a bit displeased with me too, you'll draw his fire." He smiled sweetly at Doyle. 

"You sod," said Doyle. 

Bodie hammered on the door. 

Mr. Coke, now used to being disturbed at any and all hours, opened the door. As he did, Bodie pitched Doyle through with enthusiasm. 

"Ah, you're back, Raymond. Any trouble, William?" 

"Not unless you count having to fight for my life in a foul, filthy alley with Jack Shepherd here." 

"Raymond, you are filthy," said Mr. Coke. "What have you been doing?" 

Doyle gleefully removed a heap of papers from his coat pockets. "Good thing Miss Celia showed me how to read. Grabbed everything I could see with the Talbot crest on, and any letters. Very easy job, I'm surprised he hasn't been done before." 

"The last man who tried," said Mr. Coke, "found himself in the dock at the quarter sessions. William, take Raymond into the yard and see he washes thoroughly; he can't come into the parlour in that condition." 

"I'll wash myself down later," Doyle protested. Bodie grabbed him and hustled him through to the rear yard. From the ensuing commotion, garnished with some of the most appalling language Mr. Coke had ever heard, he gathered Bodie was seizing the opportunity to pay off old scores. He started as a heavy object struck the back door: a bucket? 

Better let them get it off their chests, he thought. He heard a yell of rage from Bodie and turned to the papers. 

A little later, Bodie stuck his head round the door. He had a black eye developing and had acquired a split lip. "Little swine hit me with a bucket," he remarked. "I've been too soft with him in the past. A good thump works wonders with Ray." 

"I hope he is still alive," said Mr. Coke mildly. 

"Just about. He's shivering by the kitchen fire. Is there any chance of breakfast? I seem to have an appetite." From Bodie's expression, Mr. Coke suspected he'd rather enjoyed his night's adventure. The attorney sighed. 

Mildred put her head round the door and glared at Bodie. "I've found some clothes for Ray," she announced, "a little large but they will do him till his own are washed and dried." She glared at Bodie again; the sight of Doyle's bruised exterior had obviously aroused her sympathies. "I'm going to give the poor lad a good breakfast now," she announced. 

"Mildred," said Mr. Coke, "can I prevail upon you to find some for me and William here? However undeserving he might be...." She nodded and left. 

"I can't understand it," said Bodie. "I'm bleeding all over your desk and it's Ray she bothers about. Women are daft about him." 

"She probably sees you as a big bullying lump," said Mr. Coke. "Now, stop dripping over my papers and go into the kitchen. I'll join you in a moment." 

They all settled for breakfast at the big kitchen table, Doyle glowering at Bodie who was grinning back at him. They continued to bicker till Mr. Coke had enough of it. 

"Please go elsewhere, both of you," he ordered. "I have work to do after last night's excitement. I'm sure you both need some sleep." 

Bodie looked up. "Good idea. Come on, Ray." 

Doyle, grumbling, followed him. He looked round the small bedroom, then threw himself on the bed. "God, I'm tired," he said. "Had a hard night." 

Bodie, in the act of hauling off his boots, stared at him. "You've had a hard night! All your fault if you did, pawning Papa's snuff box, breaking and entering, involving me in a brawl with the scum of the area just to save your miserable life, ruining my best coat in that filthy alley. Then instead of thanking me you hit me with a bucket and then lie there saying you've had a hard night!" 

Doyle was unmoved. "Got your own back with the pump. Shut up, I'm tired." 

"Go on then, move over," said Bodie. By the time he'd got his waistcoat off, Doyle was sound asleep looking like a rather bruised angel. Bodie looked at him, sighed, pulled the rug up over them both and followed his example.   
oOo

Back in his office, Joseph Stanley was frantically searching through everything. As well as those papers, he knew Doyle must have taken from the safe, other documents were also unaccountably missing. So was Mr. Clifford, who had come in early, then left 'on business' according to his clerk. Joseph began to collect some funds together, then sent for some of his employees. 

Mr. Coke put down the last of the papers and rang for his housekeeper. "Mildred, are our guests still asleep?" 

"Yes, sir. I've just looked in on them. That poor lamb looks just like his mother, doesn't he, sir?" 

"Lamb!" said Mr. Coke. "That young man would steal anything that wasn't nailed down. I have to go to Bow Street to swear out a warrant." 

"A warrant, sir?" 

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Mildred. For Joseph Stanley and Richard Clifford for embezzlement and murder. Other charges would no doubt also be in order but they will suffice. See those two don't leave the house while I'm gone. Now who the devil is that?" 

Mildred went to answer the door. "It's Lady Hesketh's maid with a message, sir." 

"Show her in," sighed Mr. Coke. "It's Sarah, isn't it?" he said, as she entered. 

"Yes, sir. Lady Hesketh wishes to inform you she will be calling on you this afternoon with Lady Augusta Stanley and Miss Celia Bodie; if it is convenient?" 

"Thank you, Sarah," said Mr. Coke, "it will be convenient." 

After Sarah's departure he looked at Mildred. "I trust it will be, Mildred? I'm also expecting General Fitzgerald this afternoon and that pair upstairs will still be with us. I hope Lady Hesketh won't bring a large retinue this time." 

"Yes, sir," said Mildred. "I'll send out for more provisions." 

"And I must be off to Bow Street," said Mr. Coke. 

 

Doyle awoke first. He lay, going over recent events in his mind, then dug Bodie in the ribs, hard. There was a muffled complaint, then a yawn. 

"Ahhh, good, I needed that," said Bodie, he rolled over and began to cuddle Doyle who shoved him away. 

"Stop that. Bodie, I want to know something." 

"Oh, what?" said Bodie, unbuttoning Doyle's shirt, his mind clearly elsewhere. 

"How long you've known I was your cousin." He wriggled free from Bodie's clutches. 

Bodie considered. "Definitely after I met your uncle. I had wondered a bit before that, you were just too good at remembering things." 

"You didn't rush right in and tell me, did you?" said Doyle. "Planning to work on me first in case you lost Chaldon?" 

"I wouldn't have cheated you," said Bodie affronted. "I just didn't get round to telling you at first. You know how I feel about you." His affectionate overture was strongly rebuffed. 

"If you want affection, Bodie, go and call on Mrs. Porter," said Doyle. "I'm soiled goods, remember." 

"Ah, but she isn't here and you are," said Bodie. That remark earned him a rather hard thump. "That hurt," he complained. "I didn't know you knew about Lucy. Listen, Doyle, whatever you think of me I wouldn't have twisted you. Saved your life, didn't I?" 

"If you hadn't, Joseph would get the lot. As for now, you're trying to keep me sweet to be sure of getting Chaldon," said Doyle smugly. 

"You bloody miserable brat," roared Bodie. "You can take Chaldon and ..." 

There was a commotion outside and they both leapt for the window. 

"Evans! Do be careful of Miss Celia," an imperious voice was commanding from the alleyway under the window. They looked out with interest. A huge footman was holding Celia in his arms. Confronting him was a small, plump lady. 

"Hell!" said Bodie. "It's Fanny." Close behind came Lady Augusta with a tall, raw-boned female companion. As the two ladies looked up both hurriedly ducked inside. They could hear Mr. Coke welcoming the ladies, then someone else arrived. 

"Damn," said Bodie. "What are they all here for? I'll go and see what's happened now." 

He was back very quickly with a bottle and glass. "Mr. Coke wants you downstairs. Someone to see you. I'm staying here." 

Doyle got up. He looked horrified. "Is it...? Bodie, I can't see him." 

Bodie got up. "Come on Jem, it's all right. I promise you." He gave Doyle a gentle push to the door. 

"You too, William," Mr. Coke called. There was a muffled curse from Bodie. 

Mr. Coke was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. "A gentleman to see you in the parlour, Raymond. You too, William." 

Doyle slowly entered the parlour. A tall elderly gentleman of military aspect stood by the fire. Doyle stopped and gazed at him. 

"Hello, Jemmy," the man said and held out his arms. Doyle muttered something and threw himself into them. Mr. Coke and Bodie quietly withdrew; Bodie blew his nose hard. 

"Come, William, we will have a quiet drink in the snug, while Mildred serves tea to the ladies. I do not think you wish to join them?" 

"Definitely not," said Bodie. They sat quietly a while, then there was a tap on the door. The general and a glowing Doyle entered. 

"Told you I had an uncle who was a soldier, didn't I!" he said to Bodie triumphantly. 

"Indeed," said Bodie, "but as you also told me you were the exiled King of France I didn't place much reliance on your story." 

The general chuckled. "Major Bodie. I have to thank you for protecting this rascal of a nephew of mine. Jem and Mr. Coke have told me all you have done for him. Is there any way I can repay you?" 

Bodie rose to his feet. "I'm happy Ray is restored to his family," he said. "You don't owe me anything." He left the room; Doyle made to follow him. 

"No, Ray, let him go," said Mr. Coke. "General Fitzgerald, if I may speak on the Major's behalf. He is a proud, difficult man who will ask nothing for himself, but I know his army career meant a great deal to him. It was a great blow to have to resign his commission. He fought gallantly in Spain but civilian life doesn't suit William. There are too many distractions. If you could help him recommence his army career, I feel a fresh start would be the making of him." 

The general nodded. "Yes, I inquired about Major Bodie. A fine soldier in Spain but here in London something else again. Needs to have that energy harnessed more usefully, I'd say! Not an artillery man myself, but they have their uses. I'll see what I can do. Then when he gets his papers, he won't be able to refuse, stiff-necked - " 

"You understand William perfectly," said Mr. Coke. "Now, Raymond, your uncle is taking you up to his club to dine, then to Astley's." 

Doyle looked as though he'd just been handed the moon on a plate. "Astley's," he breathed, and went to get ready. 

"Good evening then, General," said Mr. Coke, ushering the general and a very spruce Doyle out. 

"Good evening, Mr. Coke. I'll bring him home about eleven," said the general. They left, Doyle chattering like a magpie. 

Mr. Coke smiled, then turning, saw Bodie in the hallway, looking rather lost. 

"Oh, William, come back into the snug a moment. I'm in no hurry to talk to your aunt." 

"I think Ray's more delighted at finding his uncle again than he is about the estate," said Bodie. "Funny lad, he needs a family to care about him." 

"Yes," said Mr. Coke. "The general is a good man, he was deeply attached to his half-brother and nephew. He is very grateful to you for helping Raymond. He does not know of the relationship between you, that is your own affair, but I..." 

"I know," said Bodie. "Don't worry, that's over." 

"Well," said Mr. Coke, "I can't put it off any longer. I will have to tell your aunt her son is a thief and probably a murderer." 

Bodie looked up, startled. "Murderer? I know he tried to have Ray killed but..." 

"Your grandfather's death was not an accident. Difficult to prove but I suspected it when I found a certain letter among those papers Raymond stole. Then Richard Clifford was arrested late this afternoon possessed of other documents which make very interesting reading. He is lodging information against his employer, trying to keep his neck out of the noose. They are still looking for Joseph - and not only the Runners. Now I must go to the ladies. William, try and stay sober. I want you to keep an eye on Raymond." Mr. Coke departed. 

Bodie got up to refill his glass. He was just settling down when there was a knock on the door; he opened it. The burly Evans stood there, holding Celia. 

"Oh, good," said Celia, "we've found you. Just leave me on the sofa, Evans, my brother will take care of me." 

Evans looked dubiously at Bodie and did so. "Ring if you want anything, Ma'am," he said. 

"Yes, Evans, thank you." She smiled at her brother. "He's a pet, thinks I'm made of bone china, bless him." 

Bodie gave her a hug and sat beside her. "You look much better," he remarked. "The change is doing you good." 

"Yes, but I've missed you and the brat terribly. What's all this I hear about you fighting off footpads in Seven Dials, saving little Jemmy's life?" 

"His own damned fault I had to do it," said Bodie. "Couldn't let them make mincemeat of the little wretch, I need him for Chaldon, don't I." 

"That's my hero!" said Celia, clapping her hands. "He really is the heir then? Oh, William, how lovely and stop scowling, you're delighted too, admit it!" 

"Rather him than Joseph anyway," said Bodie. "Landed on his feet, has Jemmy." 

"Aunt Augusta burst into tears when Mr. Coke told her," said Celia. "She'd been told he died in a foundling home. She's delighted he's getting the estate. Then they sent me out of the room, apparently I'm too fragile to hear the worst." She paused. "Is it really bad, William? About Joseph." 

"Yes," said Bodie. "He's suspected of killing grandfather, and certainly tried to get Ray killed." 

"Apparently he called on Aunt Augusta early this morning, demanding money," said Celia. "Abigail threatened him with a pistol. He laughed at her, so she sent a ball just over his head, told him next time it would be lower. Her late husband was in the Buffs, taught her to shoot." 

"Good for her," said Bodie. "Made off, did he?" 

"Like a rabbit. Mr. Coke says the Runners are looking for him." 

At that moment Fanny, Lady Augusta, and the huge Evans all entered the tiny snug. 

"Come, Celia," said Fanny, "it's getting late. London is no place to be abroad after dark. William, could you come to tea on Thursday?" 

"No," said Bodie, "I have an appointment to see my old commanding officer." 

"A pity," said Fanny. "Lady Crammond would like you to meet her Ursula, she's quite desperate to get her off her hands." Celia giggled into her handkerchief. 

"I've met Ursula," said Bodie heavily, "and nothing would induce me to take her off anyone's hands." 

Augusta looked at him. "William," she said, "I've been pleasantly surprised in you today." She kissed him. 

"Yes, Ma'am," said Bodie, slightly pink and overcome by her unexpected approval. 

"Come now," said Augusta. "We will all meet again when the estate is wound up. You will inform us of the date, Mr. Coke?" 

"Of course, Ma'am." He ushered everyone out, then closed the door with a sigh of relief. "You know, William, I could almost feel my small house straining at the seams!" He went into the parlour and lit the lamp, drawing the curtains. 

"I'd like Raymond to stay on here a few days, William. He has papers to sign, affidavits have to be made, that sort of thing. What will you do?" 

"Going home in the morning," said Bodie. "Nothing to keep me here." 

Mr. Coke looked at him sharply. "What about Ray?" 

"What about him?" said Bodie. He shrugged. "Ray's going to be all right. Sir Raymond Doyle, nephew of General Fitzgerald - not bad going for an ex-diver from Vauxhall Gardens." 

He had, Mr. Coke realised, been making heavy inroads into his brandy - again. "Shut up, William," said Mr. Coke. "I'm sick and tired of listening to you. Have you ever stopped to consider what Ray's life must have been like? How he grew up in the stews? Of course you haven't: too busy seeing everything through a mist of self-pity or alcohol, I don't know which is worse with you. Well, I think it's time I told you some of the facts of life. Raymond is everything you claim he is, but a far better man than Harry Devereux, whose acquaintance you were happy to claim once! A drunken sadistic sot without a shred of human decency!"  
Bodie got up to leave the room. "Afraid of the truth, William, that it might spoil that fine image you have of yourself?" 

Bodie turned back and flung himself into a chair. "Go on then, tell me little Ray is whiter than white." 

"Hardly that... but we will take your life first. I know you and Celia had a wretched childhood, your father's indifference to you both, but you actively encouraged his dislike with your championship of your mother and dislike of poor Octavius. Not to mention your continual flouting of your father's wishes, which naturally earned you heavy punishment. But you did have a roof over your heads, food to eat, warm clothes in the winter, Jemima and her mother who gave you both affection. Am I correct, William?" 

Bodie nodded sullenly. "Yes, I suppose I did lead the old bastard on a bit." 

"Well then," Mr. Coke went on, "let's take Raymond. He was the child of older parents. I don't think they could have hoped for a child that would live, at your aunt's age. He was a very much loved and wanted child and, I'm afraid, thoroughly over-indulged. Then one day everything changes: his father leaves the house, he never sees him again, they tell him he is dead. His mother is distraught, the situation in France is changing. She decides she must go to England to give her son the protection of her family - I'm inclined to believe she was already a sick woman. She writes her father's lawyer for advice, no reason to distrust him, he was married to her sister. He writes and tells her the family will not help her. She falls ill and dies. Her son is taken to England by her maidservant, she meets a man, they go and see George Stanley together. They are sure Raymond's rich relatives will accept him and probably reward them for bringing him, but George Stanley tells them to take that beggar's brat away. They show him a baptismal certificate: forgery, he says, and threatens them with the law, they can be hanged for what they are doing. They become frightened, the child is a danger to them and a spoilt, wilful brat he is too, so they sell him to a flashhouse. Raymond has told me quite proudly that on a good day he could average thirty good silk handkerchiefs." 

"This is all supposition," said Bodie. "You can't know..." 

"As I told you, Richard Clifford has been arrested. As well as papers, he had other information to give, he hopes it will save him. But that is no matter now. So, Raymond is taught to steal, lie, cheat.... To begin to tell sad stories of his life till he hardly knows himself what the truth is any more; he doesn't really want to remember the truth, that would make his new life unbearable." 

"He didn't have to steal," said Bodie. "There are places for children, homes..." 

"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Coke. "The life of a child in the average foundling home is less than six months. They die of want, ill-treatment, and sheer neglect. Beggar children are a drain on public funds, William, much better if they die and save the parish money. No, Raymond was safer on the streets than in the charitable hands of his betters! So, after a day's thieving it was back to the Dials to find a place on a cellar floor, or a common lodging house, among the filth. If you're quick enough, a place by the fire; if not, in the corridor full of human refuse. You've never seen a lodging house, have you, William?" Bodie shook his head. "I must take you to one, they're a fine training ground for all kinds of mischief and there are plenty there ready to instruct a bright lad. So he grew up with no parents, permanent shelter, or anyone to care for him, receiving only the occasional kindness even the outcasts of society show each other. Did he ever mention Jennie to you?" 

"No," said Bodie. "Who was she?" 

"He would say his wife. He met her in one of the lodging houses, another orphan making her way through the jungle of the streets, a little older than Ray. They formed a team, then, when he was about fourteen, I'd say, they set up house together: one room in the Dials." 

"Rather young for that, weren't they?" said Bodie, startled. "Oh God, something I said to Ray once, knew I'd hit a nerve." 

"It's quite usual among their kind," said Mr. Coke. "These children grow up fast, they have to to survive; their unions are not considered either lawful or Christian by their betters but there is generally a great deal of affection and fidelity shown on both sides. They had ambitions to make enough money to leave London, have a little business somewhere outside. Then one day she was caught and sentenced to be transported; Ray begged to be allowed to go with her but she died in prison of typhus. After that, he left London, went to work at 'the Spaniards' as groom, where he met Captain Dashwood. You know, he was a little like you, William, I hadn't realised it. He wasn't a bad man. Ray was desperately unhappy. I think he saw the Captain as the father he had lost, the 'man on the horse'. A strong affection developed between them. Oh, and by the way, they were never lovers." 

"But Ray said..." 

"I'd have thought you'd know better than to believe everything Ray says," said Mr. Coke tartly. "No doubt he had his reasons for lying to you. Like you, he tends to speak without reckoning the consequences. The Captain was captured during a prolonged drinking bout. He'd been very successful on the toby and his captors wanted his money and more information; they decided with adequate ill-treatment his groom might tell them. I arrived just in time to stop them killing him. I went to the Captain, told him. He made a full confession and begged me to help Ray, he knew there wasn't a chance for himself. I did what I could and saw Ray was released but before I could help him he'd slipped away. I saw him again at the hanging, poor boy. 

"Just one more thing you should know, the Captain's body was gibbeted - a foul practice. After a few days, it was stolen and buried, with some collusion by the clergy, in a local churchyard. I asked Ray about that. He admitted it, couldn't leave Jack for the scum of the country to spit at, he was always afraid of that, thought he wouldn't rest easy. He said it was a last service for a man who'd been kind to him. Now, William, will you go home and try to put your life in order. I'll look after Ray and let you know when the estate will be wound up.  
William?" 

Bodie was staring into the fire. "You're right, I am a bastard," he remarked. "But I didn't mean half of it, you know." 

"Yes, I know, but to continue any liaison between you would do Ray nothing but harm. He has a chance of a good life now, and from what I hear from General Fitzgerald, a large and loving family waiting to meet him in Ireland." 

Bodie straightened up. "Yes, if he'd been merely Jemmy Doyle from Vauxhall Gardens it would have been right for us. I'd have looked after him. As rich Cousin Raymond, the last thing he needs is a drunken ex-artillery man with money troubles round his neck. Have to ask him to help Celia, though I don't suppose I'll have to, he likes Celia." 

"Yes, he does, he's very fond of you, too. God knows why!" said Mr. Coke. "Go to bed, William. You're out on your feet." 

"Yes, I have to pack. You'll look after Ray. If you need me, I'll come back." 

"Yes, William, now off you go." Mr. Coke watched him leave the room and shook his head. "Oh, William, what am I going to do about you?" he sighed. 

oOo 

Next day, well on his way home, Bodie was eating a meal at a coaching Inn when he heard his name being called. "Major Bodie. Sir!" He looked up: it was one of Mr. Coke's clerks. 

"Mr. Benbow, isn't it?" he said rising. 

"Yes, sir. Could you come back to London? We've lost Mr. Doyle!" 

Bodie's language turned the air blue for miles. 

"Damn and blast the little sod," he said finally. "I'll have to hire a horse." 

As they galloped back to London, Mr. Benbow explained. "He went out early to buy a bonnet for Miss Celia, one of those new blue fashionable ones, all the rage they are. Mildred told him the best place to go. He shouldn't have been gone long but Mr. Coke thought he'd probably called on friends, you know how Mr. Doyle is." 

"Oh, indeed," said Bodie grimly. "So why the worry?" 

"Then we heard he had been grabbed by two of Joseph Stanley's men, found the bonnet in an alley near the Court. The shop has confirmed it was the one he purchased. " Benbow looked at his companion's face. "He could still be alive, sir," he ventured. 

"You know better than that," said Bodie. "He could be floating down the Thames. I'll kill Joseph myself if he has harmed Ray." 

"He's disappeared too," said Benbow. "No clear sighting of him for some time. He could have left the country but Mr. Coke doesn't think so and the Runners are still out looking for him." 

It was early evening by the time they reached Goodwins Court. Mr. Coke was standing in his doorway talking to an elderly man in a long coat. 

"Let me know as soon as you have any news then, Isaac," he was saying. "I'm very worried about Jemmy. He would have returned by now if he were able." 

"Always a good lad, Jemmy," muttered Isaac. "Very honest in his dealings. If that bastard has harmed him, you only have to say the word, Mr. Coke. It'll be a pleasure..." 

"No," said Mr. Coke. "I believe time has run out for Joseph Stanley. No need for you to dirty your hands." He turned and saw Bodie. "Oh, Isaac, this is Major Bodie, he is Jemmy's cousin. I know he'd like to help you find him." 

Bodie nodded mutely. Isaac looked him up and down and let out a harsh cackle. "This popinjay? In the Dials they'd have a chiv in his ribs in the first alley. We don't want his sort." 

"Look," said Bodie, "I'm going in anyway and you can..." 

"Isaac," said Mr. Coke, interrupting, "I can vouch for Major Bodie. He wounded Black Tom and helped Jemmy a few nights ago." 

"So it was you, was it?" said Isaac with more approval. "Did a good job there. You both come to my shop around ten, I should have something by then." 

"We will be there," said Mr. Coke. "Good night. Come William, you will need a hot meal and something to drink to keep out the cold tonight." Isaac had disappeared back into the fog.

They went into the parlour together. Mr. Coke handed Bodie a pretty, blue, sprigged bonnet. "This was found in the alley. It's blood, I'm afraid." 

"I shouldn't have left," said Bodie. "Should have stayed and looked after him." 

"We have no time for that," said Mr. Coke. "I have my men out and Isaac is conducting inquiries of his own in St. Giles." 

"You know some strange people, Mr. Coke," said Bodie as he settled to his meal, served by a red-eyed Mildred. 

"No worse than many who sit in judgment," said Mr. Coke. "We are fortunate that Joseph is so cordially hated by the criminal fraternity and his own kind and with reason. When you come with me tonight, William, you must forget afterwards everything you may see or hear. Many things will shock or offend you, but Seven Dials has its own laws. It is a separate world from this, the Runners won't enter and you will only be safe because you are with me. You understand?" 

"Yes," said Bodie. "You surprise me, Mr. Coke. I took you for a very unworldly man, remote from everyday life. A - " He stopped. 

"A dull lawyer glued to his books, eh? I have worked among these people for many years now, saving those I could, helping them to make a decent life away from the stews." 

"Why?" asked Bodie. "My aunt says you have a good practice among the well-to-do and could do even better." 

"Indeed, my contacts among the gentry help to pay for my work elsewhere. As to why, well, many years ago a young lawyer came up from the country determined to make a name for himself so he could ask the young lady he much admired, but far above him in station, to become his wife. He was shocked at what he found in this city. Then one day he was asked to defend a lad of fourteen, a known thief; he was, of course, guilty, with a long list of offences behind him, he'd started much like Jemmy. 

"There was no possible defence, but I tried. I couldn't let a fellow human being die for stealing a purse containing three guineas. I failed, of course. He didn't blame me, they look upon it as the luck of the game. I watched him on the scaffold with others, dressed in borrowed finery from his fellow thieves, it is important to them, you know, to make a good show at the end, for once in their hard lives they are centre stage. Afterwards I went to a fashionable dinner party for business reasons. I listened to the cant talked there, saw how the  
'quality' disported themselves and knew them guilty of far worse crimes than that pathetic lad. You understand now, William?" 

"Yes," said Bodie. He smiled sadly, "And also your impatience with my... indulgences. Isn't it time, yet?" 

"Yes, just about. We must get ready." 

They set out through the dark streets. As they entered the alleys of the Dials, Bodie was reminded of an anthill he'd once stirred up. Even though it was now late, the streets were still thronged with people. He saw goods were laid out on the ground in front of the grimy houses; old shoes, clothes to his eye fit only to be thrown away, were being pawed through and bought. He felt someone brush against him and felt for his pocket book. A word from Mr. Coke and it was handed back to him by an urchin of not more than eight years. Bodie gazed after him, bemused. 

"Here we are," said Mr. Coke. They entered a small shop. The air was close and stifling inside, the shop packed with people either pawning or selling items. He noticed Mr. Coke was collecting a small silver snuff box. Bodie grinned, then wrinkled his nose against the foetid air and the crush of unwashed humanity. 

"I'd better mind this for now, William," said Mr. Coke, pocketing the snuff box. At the back they could see Isaac questioning a small gypsy-looking lad. He beckoned them over. 

"Ah, Mr. Coke," said Isaac, "this good lad here has some information for us. He heard two men boasting in Tom Kettle's how they'd put one over on Joseph Stanley, asked them to snuff out a lad, he did. Hearing that he was in trouble and seeing the lad was good-looking, they took a chance, sold him to a mollyshop and gave Joseph his coat with some good butcher's blood smeared on it. Told him they'd had to dump him in the river, quick. Very amused they were, making a double profit." 

"Do we know which one?" asked Mr. Coke worriedly. 

"We will soon. Some of the lads are having a talk with them in the back..." 

A burly man came through and whispered a few words to Isaac. 

"Too rough, Jake, too rough. Told you about that before. Never mind, you did well. It's Madame Rosa's in Covent Garden. You know it, Mr. Coke?" Isaac asked. 

"Oh yes," said Mr. Coke. "Well, William, have you a mind to a night's diversion?" 

Bodie stared at him. "I don't understand you." 

"Madame Rosa's is a well-known male brothel, patronised by members of the military, I understand. William, if you are going to vomit, please go outside." 

"But Jem in a place like that...." said Bodie, horrified. 

"Better than the river," said Mr. Coke. "And Madame Rosa doesn't like his boys being knocked about. He's very particular on the way his clients conduct themselves. Ray could have ended up in a much worse place. But we must move fast." 

So, with a large sum of money donated by Mr. Coke: "I'm afraid vice tends to be more expensive this year," Bodie set off, wearing his best   
officer-on-the-town-and-looking-for-excitement manner and what he hoped was a sufficiently debauched expression. 

"This is the place, William. In you go. Isaac and I won't be far away." 

Bodie entered and looked round with distaste. This increased when he met the proprietor. He gritted his teeth and described what he required in a night's partner. Several possibilities were trotted out for him and found wanting. 

"No," he said with annoyance. "I particularly desired a lad with green eyes, and a more slender build, not this load of carthorses. But if you can't supply...." 

"Now, sir, we have another lad who might suit you, but very expensive. Fresh from the country, unspoilt, but needing careful handling, clean as a whistle, highly recommended." 

"A virgin?" asked Bodie in surprise. 

The proprietor spread his hands. "These days, sir? Not like it was, you know. He is untrained but well worth a bit of trouble." 

"Well, I'll take a look at him," said Bodie indifferently. 

"This way, sir." They went upstairs. A row of doors led off the landing. The man opened one and motioned Bodie in. 

"We have him fastened, sir. He became upset and injured one of my helpers."

Doyle was fastened to a bedpost, wearing only a pair of skimpy green silk drawers, his face painted. Bodie walked over and tipped his head back. The green eyes looked blankly at him. 

"Not a bad looker," he remarked. "What's the matter with him? I like a lad with a bit of spirit." 

"We had to give him a drop of laudanum. He's a lot of fight in him, you won't be disappointed." 

"He'll do," said Bodie. "Two hours, I think. What is the price?" 

"Yes, sir." He named the amount. "And, sir, no damage to the lad or you'll be paying his surgeon's bill as well. We're hoping he's going to be quite a favourite here." 

Bodie handed the money over. Mr. Coke was right, vice was becoming very expensive. He rather suspected Madame Rosa wasn't above some mild blackmail as well. After the man left, he set about rousing Doyle, shaking him hard, with the odd slap thrown in. 

"Wake up, Jem. Blast you, come on." 

Doyle finally looked at him blearily. "Bodie... Is that you?" 

"Who else would be bothering. Let's get you untied, stop wriggling. No good, have to cut these cords. Stupid little sod getting yourself...." 

Doyle clutched him. "Oh God, I feel awful," he moaned. 

"We haven't time for that now," said Bodie, patting him hurriedly. "Get you out of here, then we'll shift that stuff off your stomach." He looked out of the window. A covered way ran just underneath. Now, if he could lower Doyle down by the bed curtain cords... 

He tried. The cords should hold him. He wondered about his own more considerable weight, then remembered Doyle's lack of clothing, not to mention his gaudy appearance. He tried spitting on his handkerchief and giving Doyle's rouged face a quick rub. Didn't work, except to arouse Doyle to complain volubly. 

"Pity I ever untied you," Bodie remarked briskly, tying him up again. "Have to worry about you being nearly naked when we get down." Doyle struggled a little. 

"Keep still," snarled Bodie, "or I'll really give you something to squeal about!" 

Dimly realising this was no time for self-assertion, Doyle allowed himself to be lowered to the roof of the covered way, then to Bodie's relief subsided into a heap there. He then, after tying the cords firmly, climbed down himself, heart in mouth. He didn't care for heights and it did his clothes no good at all. Once on the roofway it was an easy matter to shake Doyle awake and lower him to the ground, then get down himself. He was just dragging Doyle to his feet again when Mr. Coke and Isaac appeared. 

"Thank God," said Mr. Coke. "How is he?" 

"They've given him laudanum and we can't take him through the streets looking a mess like this. Need a pumice stone to get that off his face," said Bodie glumly. 

"Nonsense, soap and water will suffice. I have a cloak here, get that round him. And a dose of emetic, I think, Isaac. You have some. Good." 

Doyle, finding a nauseous liquid being forced down his throat, attempted to complain. He was informed he could swallow or choke; he swallowed. It worked like a charm. 

"Good," said Mr. Coke, as they wrapped the cloak round Doyle. "Pull that hat down over his face. Then if you would take one arm, William, we can support him between us. Keep his feet off the pavements as much as possible." 

Isaac and his men escorted them safely to Goodwins's Court then left, assuring Bodie he was welcome any time now in Seven Dials. He decided it would be impolite to appear ungrateful for the signal honour. 

Mr. Coke, with a sigh of relief, opened his front door. "I'll have Dr. Stuart look at Raymond right away. William, if you would like to go to bed...?" 

Bodie stayed up just long enough to hear that Ray had taken no lasting harm and left Mildred and Mr. Coke giving him a firm wash down, which to his relief seemed to be removing the paintwork. He then slept the clock round. 

When he finally woke to a good breakfast from Mildred, Mr. Coke informed him that Raymond's uncle, General Fitzgerald, had called and insisted on removing his nephew to the confines of his rooms in the City. Doyle had agreed and left with him. He was, Mr. Coke said, quiet and subdued in manner. 

"The general would like Raymond to go to Dublin with him as soon as possible, to meet his family, once the estate is settled. I don't think Ray is in any danger now. He has been recognised as the legal heir, and Joseph Stanley is now wanted by the law. The general informs me he has now changed his opinion of you; he is very grateful for you rescuing Ray." 

"I had to," said Bodie. "Need him to get my estate back. Let him rot otherwise." 

"Then," said Mr. Coke, "you will have no objection to staying in London till the estate is wound up? I'd like to have you at hand should any more deeds of valour be required on Raymond's behalf," and, he added to himself, I'll be able to keep an eye on you! 

oOo

Two days later they were having breakfast, when Mildred hurried into the room. "A Runner at the door, sir." 

Mr. Coke went to see him, then hurried back. "Come, William, a body has been found in the river. I've sent a note to General Fitzgerald." 

"Down there, sir," the Runner pointed. A group of men stood on the jetty by the greasy, swollen river; a water-logged heap lay at their feet. 

"Can you recognise him, Major Bodie?" one of them inquired. 

Bodie looked down, his face paling. "His throat's been cut," he murmured. "I think I've seen him in that coat. Build is the same, colour of hair. Yes, it could be him." 

Doyle, after one look, had returned to his uncle's side, his face grey. 

Mr. Coke moved over. "Yes, it could be him; he has been dead some days?" 

"Yes, sir. Could be the best thing for his family?" 

"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Coke. "Inform me when your inquiries are completed, will you?" He turned to the others. "I must inform your aunt, William. She will be expecting the news, there have been rumours in the City for many days now that he had been killed by a close associate." 

"Will they bother to find out who?" asked Bodie dryly. 

"It's unlikely. He would have hung anyway, and he knew far too much about too many people, who will all sleep easier knowing he cannot inform on them. The person responsible will no doubt be brought to book for other crimes... eventually. Come, let us go home." 

Doyle joined them, after a word with his uncle. "I'm coming with you," he said. "We need to talk." 

Mr. Coke poured drinks all round when they arrived at his home. 

"Getting bored with life among the swells, then, Jemmy?" asked Bodie. 

"No," said Doyle. "We have a lot of time to make up, I'm going to Ireland with my uncle as soon as the estate is wound up. I'm looking forward to meeting my family." 

"And will you be returning to England?" asked Mr. Coke. 

Doyle shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. Now William has his commission back..." He turned to Bodie, smiling. "I wanted to tell you myself, Uncle arranged it. Maybe I'll make a fresh start too. You'll get your papers in a few days; you'll be able to go back to your war now." 

Bodie glared at him. "What gave you the right to interfere in my life? I never asked you for any help. You can - " 

Doyle started up. "I didn't. As far as I'm concerned, Major, you can climb back into the nearest bottle and stay there. But if you ruin this chance my uncle's given you, Bodie, I'll come back and cut your bloody ears off. Goodnight." He stormed out, banging the front door behind him. 

"Oh, William," said Mr. Coke. "It's very hard to like you, sometimes. Bloody near impossible," he added. 

"So I've been told," said Bodie, unmoved. "Will he be all right, going back?" 

"Yes, I have a man keeping an eye on him for me just in case. Where are you off to?" 

"A date with a lady," said Bodie. "Don't bother to wait up for me." 

Mr. Coke felt a keen desire to throttle him. 

oOo 

Two days later Mr. Coke carefully arranged the papers on his desk and looked up to make sure he had everyone's full attention. He did. Bodie was leaning on the mantlepiece looking decidedly ill-humoured; Celia was lying on the sofa, calmly doing her tatting; Amelia, a rather cheerful widow, was resting with her feet up on the chaise lounge; Aunt Augusta was sitting bolt upright on the most uncomfortable chair in the room; Doyle was gazing out of the window in apparent unconcern. 

Mr. Coke cleared his throat and began. "I regret to inform you," he said, "that my inquiries have borne out what I already suspected, that the assets of the Talbot estate have been, in criminal parlance, milked dry. Sir Joseph Stanley had been converting them for his own use; for speculation, I believe, at which he seems to have been singularly unlucky. This will explain his determined efforts to stop Mr. Doyle here succeeding to the title. Once access had been obtained to the accounts, his embezzlements would have been apparent. It was literally a matter of life and death to him to prevent this. Even if Raymond had been an impostor, the last thing he would want was any attention drawn to his management of the estate. Strangely enough, if he had only handed Chaldon back to William as he requested, nothing would have come to light at all; he would have taken over the estate himself and disposed of it when he wished." 

"It's no more than I suspected," said Lady Augusta. "Will you check into my securities, Mr. Coke? No doubt he has been making free with them too." 

"Certainly, Lady Augusta," said Mr. Coke. He turned to Doyle. "It's a great pity your estate is not what you could have expected." 

"It's not important," said Doyle. "I've found - " 

Bodie who had been keeping heroically silent, gave up. "Not important!" he yelled. "Thanks to that bastard Joseph - " Aunt glared at him " - I now have three penniless relatives to support, plus you, you - " 

"You need have no fear we will become an encumbrance to you, William," said Aunt Augusta tartly. "We have already drawn up a plan among ourselves. You could advise us on certain points, Mr. Coke?" 

"Certainly," said Mr. Coke. "I am at your disposal." 

"What about Chaldon!" said Bodie. "Have I a claim to it?" 

"Unfortunately," said Mr. Coke, "the mortgage is still outstanding, payable to the Talbot estate. No further loans had been raised on the property, but...." He alone noticed Doyle slip from the room. 

"So that's it," said Bodie. He turned to go. 

"William," said Mr. Coke. "Mr. Doyle has instructed me to cancel the mortgage and return the property to you and Miss Celia jointly. He says it is in payment of a debt incurred in Vauxhall Gardens. I am putting the rest of the estate on the market to get what we can salvage, again on Mr. Doyle's instructions." 

"He knew the position?" Bodie asked. 

"Naturally. As soon as my fears were confirmed, I consulted him, and his uncle as Raymond's nearest relative. They both agreed your estate should be returned. The rest will be sold to meet the creditors and hopefully to provide some income for your aunt and sister. Lady Amelia states she wishes to make no claim on the estate, her parents are providing her with an income. Her house in Soho Square will also be sold to settle the debts. William, where are you off to?" 

Bodie turned. "Going to speak to Ray." 

Mr. Coke crossed his fingers. "Now, ladies, how can I help you?" he asked. 

Bodie, who hadn't noticed before that Doyle had left the room, learned from Mildred he had gone to the attic bedroom to collect some clothes he had left there, so he picked up a bottle and two glasses and made his way upstairs. 

He tried the door; it was locked. "Ray? I'd like to speak to you." 

Ray told him what he could do. 

"Ray, if you don't open this door I'll get my pistol and blow the lock off." 

"You wouldn't dare," said Doyle. "Mr. Coke would take a switch to you." He unlocked the door. "Come on in, then. Bloody pest, you are. I'm just getting my stuff together, we'll be leaving for Dublin soon." 

Bodie squared his shoulders and fought down a desire to thump Doyle. 

"Ray, we have to talk," he began. 

"No, we don't. You have Chaldon, I'm having what we agreed, the Irish estate plus whatever we can scrape out of the estate after everything is paid off. I'm putting Amelia in for a share, it's not her fault she was married to that bastard. So we are all straight now for Vauxhall Gardens and your fucking watch." 

"I see," said Bodie, "paying me off, eh? You're very generous, Mr. Doyle." 

"Thought you earned it fucking me," said Doyle. "That and your nice blue coat." 

Bodie put the bottle down slowly. "Nothing more to say, is there, except I'm very sorry, Ray, and thank you for being so kind to Celia and seeing her right." 

Doyle stared at him. "Never thought I'd hear you say that. There's hope for you yet, Bodie. Now I've got to get on my way, so push off." 

Bodie left. Doyle looked after him a moment, then shook his head and finished his packing. 

 

Bodie awoke next morning feeling very low and dispirited. Mr. Coke being unresponsive in the matter of a small loan, he trailed round to Aunt Augusta's. 

Celia greeted him with enthusiasm. "I hoped you'd call, William dear. We have it all worked out. Augusta and I are selling our jewellery. Well, I have only Mama's brooch left, but I know she would understand. Amelia has some pieces to sell that she hates and with what Mr. Coke has advanced us we are going to buy a small house in Bath, where we'll be warm and dry. He has a good man there to do it for us. Not the most fashionable area but near the Pump Room for my aches and pains and easy for Abigail and Jemima to run, with a good school nearby for William when he is old enough." 

Bodie raised an eyebrow. "William?" he queried. 

"Amelia's baby," said Celia. "He was born in Scotland, he's a pretty little fellow. Mr. Coke says that with investing our remaining funds sensibly, we should have a good income to live on and I have my own, of course. Ah, here's Ray now." Doyle entered the room. "I was just telling William of our plans." 

"I thought you were on your way to Dublin," said Bodie. 

"I was. We've been delayed by coach trouble. Has she told you the best of it?" 

"What best of if?" said Bodie suspiciously. 

"Oh Ray, don't tease. It's our journal. Augusta and I have long been of the opinion that it is time for a radical journal or news sheet. We feel attention should be drawn to the corrupt nature of the government with its bare-faced nepotism, the complete lack of scruple shown by many members bent only on their own advancement, who..." 

"Stop!" yelled Bodie, apparently struck dumb by her monologue. "Absolutely not! I forbid it! I'm not having a sister of mine in the Tower on a charge of sedition." 

"Oh fiddle," said Celia. "You don't mean that. You know it's true, remember you told me what goes on in the army: incompetent officers, commissions bought for idiot younger sons; the dishonesty of the suppliers of goods and food; the way the soldiers are cheated; the absence of proper medical facilities..." 

"You should call it 'The Muckraker'," suggested Doyle; he'd been watching Bodie's face with delight. "Pay no attention to William; I'm proud to be your cousin." He bowed over her hand. 

"That's right, encourage her. Now what you say is true, Celia, but..." 

"Put us both on your list of subscribers," said Doyle. "Perhaps William, here, could be persuaded to write you an article, under a pen name of course." He dodged hurriedly. 

Bodie sighed. "We'll end up visiting you in the Tower. Very well, Celia, but if anyone annoys you or Aunt, let me know and I'll come down and deal with them." 

It was an ideal arrangement that Celia move to Bath, he knew. Chaldon was too cold and isolated. Jemima and Abigail would take good care of her; the medical facilities at Bath were good; and she would enjoy the society of Amelia and her friends. All in all a very satisfactory arrangement. He wished his affairs could be resolved as well. 

As Ray was now chatting to Aunt Augusta, he made his way to the kitchen to pay his respects to Jemima. He found her and Amelia attending to the wants of a small, red-faced infant. 

"There's the lamb, then," said Jemima. "I'll just put the warming pan in the bed." 

Amelia sat rocking the infant, then smiled up at Bodie. "Well, what do you think of him?" she asked. 

Bodie peered at the baby and chucked him under his ample chins. "Looks well enough," he said. "Don't see why you had to call him William." 

"It's the name of a very dear uncle of mine," said Amelia, "and his father's, too, of course..." 

Bodie stared at her. The infant opened long-lashed blue eyes and gazed at him reproachfully. Amelia's obvious amusement was very disconcerting. 

"But Amelia," he began, then stopped as he hurriedly reviewed his recent brandy-soaked past. 

"Let me see, it would be oh, ten, eleven months ago now," said Amelia. "You were leaving the Argyll Rooms, quarrelling rather loudly with your companion, when you saw a lady in a blue domino being molested. You gallantly went to her assistance. As she felt rather faint, you took her to a nearby Inn for a restorative brandy, then after some conversation you spent the night with her. She left early and insistent on keeping her mask on till the candle was out, some twaddle about her reputation perhaps? You have gone rather pale, William. You've no cause for alarm, I assure you. I was a very sad, lonely lady who, on a mad impulse, had gone out seeking excitement. I'd already decided to leave my beast of a husband. I'd always had an eye to you, as Ray would say. It's surprising how bold you can be in a mask..." 

Bodie swallowed hard. "Amelia, do you think we should...?" 

"No, my dear, I don't want to marry you, and I'm very sure you don't want to marry me! William was a surprise but he is a very pleasant one. The doctor says he's a fine healthy boy, aren't you my pet! Now what do you think of him?" 

Bodie grinned with delight at her. "I think you've saved me from a fate worse than death, called Julia Willougby... and he'll make a fine heir. Won't you?" He tossed the infant up. "Let me know if he needs anything." 

"Of course. I know you'll take a kindly interest in him, but we wouldn't suit each other at all and I have no intention of marrying again. It was a very pleasant seduction, William, and I gave you every encouragement, so just let's be good friends." 

Bodie kissed her firmly. "The best. You're a fine woman, Amelia." 

Aunt Augusta marched into the room. "Cuchyo coo," she intoned. "Who's got big blue eyes?" 

The infant favoured her with a gummy smile. Bodie shuddered and withdrew. 

Celia looked up from her sofa as he entered the drawing room. "Admiring your son, William?" 

"Celia! Does Ray know... and Aunt Augusta? I'm not sure how Ray will take it." 

"No, Aunt doesn't, she merely thinks the family eyes and hair have cropped up again. Surprised you're worried about Ray's opinion of you." 

Bodie glared at her. "I'm not. It's nothing to do with Ray. He is wanted, isn't he - the baby, I mean. Not just going to be an embarrassment and shoved in a corner?" 

Celia looked at him. "Oh my dear, it isn't like us and little Tommy Porter. That child in there is going to need less attention paid to it, not more. I dote on him, Amelia dotes on him, Aunt, his grandparents in Scotland; Ray was talking to him this morning. And when he's older and you are a stout, respectable soldier you can come and teach him to ride and be very paternal with him." 

"Know what's the best thing?" said Bodie. "I don't have to marry the dreadful Julia. I have a fine strapping heir with no bother at all." 

"William! You're a rat! I don't know why I stand up for you. What's the matter between you and Ray?" 

"Just a mild disagreement, mostly my fault, it will blow over," said Bodie confidently. 

"Really? He said last night he thought you ought to be hung! Well, I hope you do sort it out. I don't like to see you at odds. Good, here's dinner." 

They dined in a cheerful mood, everyone feeling very merry. Bodie watched Doyle as he chatted with Aunt and teased Celia; he was so self-assured now. Then Amelia, who he'd always considered, when he thought about her at all, the dullest girl he'd ever met. She'd turned out a surprise all right. Showing a keen, dry wit, too. Must be with getting out from under Joseph's thumb, he thought. 

He finally excused himself to walk back to Mr. Coke's, having decided to stay with that long-suffering man till his estate was settled. Ray went part of the way with him. They talked as they went, keeping the conversation general and parted at the entrance to Goodwins Court. 

"Safe voyage then, Ray. You'll be writing Mr. Coke?" 

"Yes, I want to look over this Irish estate. Apparently there's a Dublin town-house as well, it hasn't been lived in for years. I may settle there, depends what I find." 

"Could be just what you want," said Bodie. "Goodbye, Ray. Take care." 

Ray nodded and walked away. Bodie looked after him a moment, then entered the Court. 

oOo 

Several weeks later Mr. Coke looked with annoyance at Bodie sprawled on his sofa and obviously suffering from the effects of a drinking bout. 

"I am completely out of patience with you, William," he remarked. "This latest act of folly, getting yourself asked to leave the club for being abusive to a fellow officer. That could have cost you your commission. Then your flagrant affair with Mrs. Amy Wilson, a woman whose character is such - and you cannot afford her! It is high time, you sorted your life out and settled down. Lady Hesketh informs me she knows of many excellent young ladies who would make you a good wife now your estate is settled." 

"No. Thank you!" said Bodie. "I am unfortunate in the lists of love. Poetic, that." He reached for the brandy bottle. Mr. Coke deftly moved it out of reach. 

"Not hopsit... not friendly, that, you know," Bodie said reproachfully. "Anyway, I've decided to give the ladies up... for Lent, or something..." He giggled. 

"If only that were true," sighed Mr. Coke. "William, the reason your... affairs of the heart have always, er, floundered, is that you have no sense at all in these matters. You either pick the sort of woman who is not going to be an ornament to anyone's hearth, or in the case of Caroline Winter, a baby-faced termagant who would have made your life a hell. She is even more self-willed and selfish than you are. Then Lucy Porter.... you knew she would never marry you, having her head screwed on and knowing you too well. George Dennison will suit her admirably. Now, for goodness' sake will you go home to Chaldon and do some hard thinking before you get into even more trouble." 

Bodie shrugged. "Might as well, I suppose. Haven't any more money at the moment. I suppose you wouldn't advance me any from the funds?" 

"No," said Mr. Coke, "I would not. I suggest it's high time you learnt to live within your income. You have enough to manage on till next quarter at Chaldon, if not here in London." 

"Might as well go home, I suppose," said Bodie gloomily. "Any news from Ray?" 

"No. If he writes, is there any message for me to relay to him?" 

"No... yes, just my good wishes. I could go and see Celia and Aunt in Bath on the way." He brightened at the idea. 

"William, Bath is not on the way..." But Bodie had left the room. Mr. Coke consoled himself that the authorities in Bath would stand for no nonsense and with Aunt Augusta keeping a watch on his drinking, Bodie would soon get fed up and go back to Chaldon. 

oOo 

Three weeks later Mr. Coke opened his front door to see Doyle standing there. "Raymond," he said happily. "It's a pleasure to see you, and looking so well. I trust your uncle is in good health?" 

Doyle smiled. "Yes, he's very well, but is leaving shortly for Madeira, the winters here are too much for him now. I will be seeing him off, then visit him there after Christmas. What do you think of my horse? Which is the best livery stable round here?" 

"Ah," said Mr. Coke, surveying it, "a fine animal. Jenkins on the corner is well recommended, I hear. You are staying on in London?" 

"Yes, for a week, then I want to go down to Bath to see how Celia and Aunt are getting on." 

"My latest information is that they are doing very well," said Mr. Coke. "But I must go and speak to Mildred. We must have a small celebration and I want to hear your news on the Irish property." 

Doyle went to settle his horse in the livery stable. Then, after a very good dinner, they settled in the snug to talk. 

"Yes, that seems good advice over the land," said Mr. Coke. "I fully agree that to repair the town house when it is in such a ruinous condition would be throwing money away. Better we demolish and sell the plot, then when you wish, you can build one more to your taste in a better area. We will keep the land for the moment till the market improves. So you enjoyed your visit to Ireland?" 

"Very much," said Doyle. "I was overwhelmed with hospitality. My uncle's family couldn't have been kinder, as well as my own. I've a lot to thank Bodie for. If he hadn't found me I'd have been hanged or transported perhaps by now. Instead I have a family and a future to look forward to. What has he been doing since I went away?" 

"What indeed," sighed Mr. Coke. "I hope he is now back at Chaldon attending to his estate. He did detour to Bath on his way home.... and horse-whipped a young man who was offensive to your aunt." 

"He must have had nerve," said Doyle. "Good old Bodie." 

"Ahem," said Mr. Coke. "Your aunt was very wroth with William. She had intended to deal with the young man herself. I suspect he got off lightly. After that, he fought two duels and was asked to leave Bath. Mercifully no one was killed. Both were caused by his insufferable temper. William has always been an anxiety to me, Raymond and he is getting worse. Lady Hesketh had hoped to interest him in several well-connected young ladies, with a view to marriage but he was either very rude to them or indifferent." 

"You mean Bodie is turning down heiresses?" asked Doyle with interest. 

"Well, hardly heiresses but well able to help him with his debts, I assure you." 

"Perhaps he's gone off women," said Doyle. "I heard one broke his heart." 

"Rubbish," said Mr. Coke. "They were totally unsuited. She did him a good turn. I've no patience with William's broken heart, or his 'neglected child' pose. He always had a roof over his head and enough to eat. There are thousands on the streets of London who never had that, as you well know!" 

"Oh, he has his good points," said Doyle cheerfully. "He adores Celia and that Lucy bloody Porter." 

"I should hope he does care for Celia," said Mr. Coke. "As for Mrs. Porter, she has married George Dennison who will make her a good husband and a fine parent to her son. William was excessively drunk at the wedding but at least he behaved. After that, he was asked to leave his club for being abusive to a fellow officer. His words were in substance true... but.... He took up with Mrs. Amy Wilson - " Doyle whistled. "Quite," said Mr. Coke. "Apart from other considerations, he can't afford her. Then, when he did get back to Chaldon, he quarrelled with Sir Austin Wainwright about a pig. I know Sir Austin is a difficult man, but..." 

"A pig!" said Doyle, fascinated. 

"A pig. Don't ask me any more on the matter, Raymond, I'm trying to forget it. God knows what he is doing now. Probably still drowning his sorrows over Mrs. Porter." 

"That's it then," said Ray. "I'm going to have to straighten the daft sod out, aren't I?" 

"Ray, I know you feel obligated to William but his motives in giving you a place at Chaldon were purely mercenary, you know," warned Mr. Coke. 

"No," said Doyle. "He stopped his friends carving me up in the Gardens right after I lifted his watch and pocket book and before he saw the likeness. There's more between us than that damned estate of his. He needs to put more work into that, too. I'm going to speak to him about that; needs taking in hand, does Bodie." 

Mr. Coke sat back and looked at him. "I think you would be the one to do it, Ray and good luck to you. Otherwise I shudder to think what will become of him." 

Ray was silent a moment. "I need to know something. Bodie has nightmares and hears things when he's well foxed: someone screaming. I found a picture in his desk once - yes, I was looking to see what I could steal - young, fair-haired man, red coat with gold facings, military, handsome young fella." 

Mr. Coke went to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. "I was afraid that was still painful to William," he said. "His name was Charles Hamilton, his father held the estate now owned by Sir Austin. Charles was his only son. They were all children together, though Charles was some years older than William. He took a fancy to him, took charge of him. Occy was always off with their father, so William tended to took on Charles as an elder brother. He was set for a military career, God knows why, he was quite unsuited to it and didn't want one, would have preferred an academic one but his father insisted. William, of course, was set on the army to get away from home. Eventually he was posted to Charles' regiment in Spain. To cut the story short, Charles was captured by the guerrillas. You know what they do to prisoners?" 

"I've heard stories," said Doyle. 

"They are true. William couldn't get to him until it was too late. He blames himself but there was nothing he could have done. After that, well, he started changing into the man you know." 

"Thought that was it," said Doyle. "It's time we both buried our dead. He must have been very close to him." 

"Yes," said Mr. Coke, "he was. I liked Charles and grieved when he was killed. Are you visiting friends while you are in London?" 

"No, just White's to take a hand at the tables, I like to keep in practice." 

"Raymond," began Mr. Coke. "Well, I suppose you must... but don't win too consistently, will you." 

Doyle grinned and left. 

oOo 

Early one morning Bodie was awakened by what sounded like a full cavalry charge under his bedroom window. He staggered up and looked out. No, all seemed calm and peaceful but surely the sun shouldn't be that high and bright already? He winced from the light. Down below there was a wild shriek and the crash of a bowl hitting a stone floor. 

Bodie clutched his head, wondering if he could make it to the kitchen if there was a danger of rape and pillage, and did he even care? Then he recognised Doyle's voice; it was horribly loud. He looked into his wall mirror: an unshaven, red-eyed, pasty-faced 'thing' looked back at him. He averted his eyes. 

His bedroom door crashed open. "God, you look a mess!" said a cheerful voice. 

"Shut up, Doyle," said Bodie automatically. "I'm going to shave." He picked his razor up in a shaking hand. 

Doyle looked at him. "Give that to me," he said in exasperation. "Jemima won't like having to wash the blood out of the carpet after you've cut your throat." 

Bodie looked down at his trembling hands and decided Doyle was right. At that moment Jemima entered and crashed down a jug of hot water and a bowl of stew. Bodie looked at it with nausea. "I'm not eating that!" 

"Be quiet," said Doyle. "It's for me. Now sit down and keep still, I haven't had much practice at this. Go on, you'll feel better." 

Bodie doubted that, but obeyed. 

"What brings you back from Dublin anyway?" he asked after a while. "Thought you were settled there for good." 

"Um," said Doyle, scraping carefully. "How long since you had a decent shave? So did I. Then I got lonely for you, I could see you sitting here pining for me, emptying all the bottles you could find and not eating. Aaaah, I thought, better get back and straighten the poor bugger out. Do yourself a bit of good, too." 

Bodie wished he felt strong enough to hit him. 

"I heard Lucy Porter married Major Dennison," Doyle went on. "I was quite relieved about that. I knew Mrs. Amy Wilson wasn't serious. By the way, the two of you are in the scandal sheets at Bath - not Celia's, she said that wasn't news and that she wouldn't waste paper on it. She told me Jemima had come back here to nurse you through an attack of the horrors." 

"She did not!" said Bodie, stung to reply. "She nursed me through a fever after I fell in the river and caught a chill. Mat had no idea what to do with me. My horse fell and threw me in: I wasn't drunk. Well, not very." 

"You're going to have to stop that," said Doyle. "I'm not having you breaking your damned neck. And another thing, I've met young William Stanley and a fine brisk little lad he is, but you can stop lifting petticoats when we are settled." 

Bodie ground his teeth, but you don't argue with a person of Doyle's temperament when he has an open razor at your throat. Doyle stopped and wiped him down. 

"There, that's much better," he remarked. 

Bodie glowered into the mirror. He did look better, he decided, more human anyway. His vision was clearing too. He took a long look at Doyle. 

"Well, well," he said, taking in the fashionable ensemble, "if it isn't Sir Jemmy Doyle of Vauxhall Gardens. To what do we owe the honour of your visit, Sire?" 

"Look good, don't I?" said Doyle, looking himself in the mirror with appreciation. 

"Oh, excellent," drawled Bodie. "Can I expect a bill from my tailor, or are the Bow Street Runners on your heels?" 

"Neither," said Doyle complacently. "I won the money playing faro at White's. They've asked me not to go again, I'm too good for them, I'm afraid." 

"I see," said Bodie. "Enjoy yourself in Ireland, did you?" 

Doyle looked up from his bowl of stew. "I had a fine time, hardly got off a horse. Met my relatives - did you know my grandmother was on the stage? Pretty Polly Doyle: songs, jigs and dramatic monologues; top of the bill, she was, very popular and pretty. I take after her," he added modestly. 

"That explains a lot of your character defects," said Bodie. "Met her, did you?" 

"No," said Doyle sadly. "She died young but before she went, she got her friends together to pick out which of her children they would take. If they didn't recognise their own, of course." 

Bodie, who had helped himself to a spoonful of stew, nearly choked on it. "Hope they all found good homes," he said, when he could speak again. 

"Seem to have, they're all alive and thriving. My uncle Peter is still on the stage, invited me to join him. The rest do all sorts of things, most live in places as tumbledown as this. I thought you were going to get the place done up?" 

Bodie, torn between swiping Doyle one and trying to hide his delight in seeing him again, remembered he had something to say to him first. 

"Ray, I have to apologise over what I said about Captain Dashwood, it was inexcusable of me. So if you wish to call me out, I am at your service." 

"Don't talk wet," said Doyle briskly. "What would I want to do that for, you might get hurt. But thank you, I was very fond of him. Better get on with this, here, you have half. I've missed Jemima's cooking. Have you really been ill?" 

"Oh, that. Yes, my own fault. Look, Ray, you can do a lot better for yourself than get landed with me, you know." 

"Of course I can," said Doyle. "Don't want to though, do I?" 

"Now listen," said Bodie in desperation, "I'm a lot older than you and - " 

"Only four years," said Ray. "You look older but that's the drink and your dissolute way of life. I'm going to alter that. Mr. Coke has my baptismal record now. I'm Raymond James Doyle, all legal and proper." 

"I always thought you were much younger than that," said Bodie. "Probably because you're such a little runt. Anyway, I'm going to marry Julia Willougby." 

"Tell that to the marines," said Doyle. "You wouldn't marry Julia to escape a firing squad." 

"I would," said Bodie, "but only just." 

"Mr. Coke said it's time you settled down," said Doyle firmly. "Look at my assets: I'm strong enough to put you to bed when you're foxed - we'll need a bigger bed, by the way. I'm getting some money when the estate is settled. I've a good seat on a horse; matching silver shoe buckles; a good silver snuff box..." 

"Ah, so that's where it went," said Bodie. 

"My lucky piece, that," said Doyle, ignoring the interruption. "One blood horse whose grandfather won a race somewhere - and I'm not Ursula Crampton, who Lady Hesketh has already tried to fling at your head!" 

"God," said Bodie, "has she now? What blood horse? Where?" 

"In the yard. Mat is rubbing him down. Present from my uncle. He's a beauty." 

"I'm going to speak to your uncle," said Bodie, "he's spoiling you. Well, as an alternative to Ursula you do have your good points." 

"Settled then, is it?" said Doyle. "Then when Lady Hesketh finds me an heiress...?" 

"You can stop that," said Bodie. "You're staying with me, I've missed you." What was the use of arguing? He knew Doyle was going to worm his way into his life for good, might as well give in and enjoy it. 

Feeling much better, he yelled down to Jemima for another helping of stew. 

"Funny thing," he said. "That brochure on Vauxhall Gardens..." 

"What about it?" said Doyle, satisfied he'd won that round, and working out the changes he wanted made in the house and Bodie's way of life. 

"Um, oh, nothing," said Bodie. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to let Doyle know he considered he'd found his 'heart's desire', just yet. He'd tell him sometime. No good to let him get the upper hand. He ladled more stew into Doyle's bowl. 

"Now you can tell me all about Dublin," he said. 

 

END


End file.
